


before my spirit falls again

by anorchidisnotaflower



Series: will you take your time [1]
Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Infidelity, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon, Season/Series 04, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28306479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anorchidisnotaflower/pseuds/anorchidisnotaflower
Summary: “So you haven’t learned to be of good cheer,” Deafy exclaimed, standing up. “Odis, I have half a mind to take you down to Salt Lake and show you how wonderful Christmas can be.”“Then why don’t you?” Odis met Deafy’s eyes, reading the challenge there and throwing down his own gauntlet.Odis Weff invites himself to Dick "Deafy" Wickware's house for Christmas— and starts a chain reaction neither of them can stop.
Relationships: Dick "Deafy" Wickware/Odis Weff
Series: will you take your time [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143461
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	before my spirit falls again

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone! This fic has been a long time coming, so I hope it brings you a little holiday cheer. I wish all of you a joyous holiday season and a very happy new year!
> 
> For [Theyfightcrime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theyfightcrime), my partner in crime, and for [winterwinterwinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwinterwinter/), who once said that Odis Weff deserved the oblivious kindness of a child.

Christmas time had arrived with all its bells and whistles, and Odis Weff was holed up in his apartment, avoiding every second of it.

There wasn’t any reason why, particularly— Odis had just found that being a bachelor over Christmas was often a fate worse than death to some, and pity was the last thing he wanted from anyone. It was hard enough mustering up the energy to decorate the tiny tree on his kitchen table. Having to deal with precinct parties where all he got were sympathetic glances and multiple bottles of whiskey wasn’t worth it.

Well. The free whiskey wasn’t so bad.

Odis straightened up the last ornament he’d placed on the tree: a little angel Levney had gotten years ago. It didn’t feel like years, really, but the angel had gotten a little dimmer, a little scuffed at the edges from time.

Odis still decorated the tree for his fiancée. She’d loved Christmas.

A knock at the door — five of them, in rapid succession — startled Odis out of his thoughts. He didn’t get too many visitors these days, so if he had to guess…

“It’s me, Palomino,” a voice from the other side called out. “Mind letting me in?”

Odis sighed, walking to the door and knocking. Dick “Deafy” Wickware waited on the other side, his trademark, sideways smirk in place.

“I assume we’re still on for lunch,” Deafy said. “How’s the festive season treating you?”

“As well as it can,” Odis replied, moving back from the doorway. “C’mon. I just finished decorating.”

After the fiasco at the train station just last year, Odis had stayed in reluctant contact with Deafy. Ultimately, arresting Zelmare and Swanee with him had been one of Odis’ better decisions, and somehow, they’d both survived the gang war bloodbath that followed.

Deafy hadn’t left after his big arrest— he stuck around like one of those bad pennies, always turning up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe it was the right place, every once in a while. Odis wasn’t sure how he would have survived coming home to a handful of Faddas if Deafy hadn’t been there.

And now it had been a year, and Deafy still worked with Odis, sometimes, and Odis let him come over, sometimes, and they were friends, sort of. Odis didn’t really have friends, but maybe Deafy could be one, if he was so inclined.

“Just one little tree?” Deafy leaned in, peering at all the tiny ornaments.

Odis shrugged. “Don’t need much to cheer the place up.”

Deafy tilted his head, looking at a fraying bird ornament. “If this is what you call cheerful, then we may need to sit down a while and have a talk.”

“I’d rather not,” Odis huffed. He walked over to the coffee pot, pouring himself a mug from a still-warm batch.

“You don’t strike me as a man with much Christmas spirit.” Deafy sat down at the table, removing his hat.

Odis took a sip. “It’s not that. I’m sure you have loads of family at home, right?”

Deafy fidgeted with the brim of his hat. “We have plenty large gatherings back at the homestead. Why?”

“So, you have Christmas.” Odis looked out the window, watching the first flakes of flurries begin to fall as he tapped on his mug. “Me? I don’t have family here. December’s just another month in a long string of them.”

“That’s no way to talk about the time of the Lord’s birth,” Deafy said, bracing his elbows on his knees. “This is the most joyous time of the year.”

Odis snorted. “Sure.” Deafy’s little monologues about faith tended to go over Odis’ head, but he indulged them, every once in a while. Odis had to admit they were at least interesting when he wasn’t busy being annoyed by them.

“For so it is written,” Deafy started, “’And behold, the voice of the Lord came unto him, saying, Lift up your head and be of good cheer; for behold, the time is at hand, and on this night shall the sign be given, and on the morrow come I into the world.’”

Odis just nodded. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

“So you haven’t learned to be of good cheer,” Deafy exclaimed, standing up. “Odis, I have half a mind to take you down to Salt Lake and show you how wonderful Christmas can be.”

“Then why don’t you?” Odis met Deafy’s eyes, reading the challenge there and throwing down his own gauntlet.

Deafy half-laughed. “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me,” Odis said, tapping on his mug, once, twice in rapid succession. “Don’t play your tricks with me, Wickware. We’ve known each other too long for that.”

“You asking to come to my place for Christmas?”

Odis nodded. “I have nowhere else to be. Beats spending it here.”

“Fine.” Deafy placed his hat back on his head, and only then did Odis notice his hands, flexing and unflexing in his gloves. Something odd, there, something unbalanced in Deafy’s stance.

“If you’d prefer I didn’t…” Odis started.

“You’ve already invited yourself,” Deafy pointed out. “And besides, it wouldn’t be in keeping with Heavenly Father’s teachings if I kicked you out into the cold. There will be room at the inn for you, I swear it.”

Odis couldn’t help but chuckle, taking one last sip of his coffee. “I’m curious to see what the Wickware household looks like.”

“It’s not much.” Deafy didn’t meet his eyes, looking out the window instead. “But it’ll do.”

“I’d be happy on a couch, marshal,” Odis said, leaving the mug in the sink. “No need to fancy up the place for me.”

“You’re our guest,” Deafy replied. He turned back around with a grin, but even Odis could spot the frayed edges in it. “We’ll make sure it’s like a second home to you.”

“Fantastic. Now, where were we headed for lunch?” Odis asked, grabbing his coat. “I’ll drive this time.”

“By all means,” Deafy chuckled, and Odis could hear the sound following behind him out the door, an echoing hum in his bones.

* * *

They set out just past dawn a week before Christmas, the car packed with Odis’ one suitcase and Deafy’s two. If Odis had to guess, he’d say at least one case held extra hats, or five of the same brown suit. He’d never seen Deafy in anything else, and today’s long drive was no different, Deafy’s hat perched solid as always on his head.

They’d tossed a coin to see who drove first. Deafy won, and Odis started the drive, exhaustion settling in the corners of his eyes. Deafy was already fast asleep beside him, hat tilted down to cover his face as he snoozed.

It was strange, really, how little Odis knew about the marshal. A year had come and gone, and he had no idea about the man’s wife, whether he had kids, what he liked to do on the weekends. Maybe his favorite color was brown, and he disliked coffee, but that was as far as Odis’ knowledge went. They worked together, sure. Grabbed lunch on occasion. Left lots of room for conversation, but Deafy had a knack of turning things on their head, of twisting the tables back to meet Odis at every turn.

It was damn annoying. This trip would ensure Odis would learn _something_ about him, to satisfy his own curiosity, itching under his skin.

And at the very least, Odis trusted Deafy enough that wherever they were heading, it wasn’t to murder him and dump his body in a field.

Then again, Odis wouldn’t put it past him.

He stopped at a gas station two or so hours in, and by that time, Deafy had roused himself enough to get out and stretch his legs.

“You doing all right, Palomino?” Deafy twisted his back, and Odis could hear a little crackling sound.

“Just fine with you sleeping the day away.” Odis twisted the gas cap closed five times. “Not like I need a copilot to tell me where we’re going.”

“I trust you to know the way,” Deafy said, his easy smile appearing as it always did.

Odis huffed. “I’ve never even been to Salt Lake City before, and you trust me. I’m not guided by the Lord like you are, pastor.”

“Don’t need the Lord to know how to read a sign.” Deafy winked before he settled back into the passenger seat.

Odis rolled his eyes before knocking on the door, quick, climbing in beside him. “Will you stay awake for the rest of the drive if I ask nicely?”

“This is you asking nicely?”

“Then I won’t ask.” Odis glared over at Deafy, his smug grin. “I’m telling you. Stay alert.”

“Sure thing, partner.”

They pulled away from the curb, settling back into the drive ahead. Deafy flicked on the radio — some country station, of course, and Odis tried not to roll his eyes again — and didn’t so much look out the window as much as he watched Odis.

“Find me more interesting than the many cows we’re passing?” Odis asked.

He spotted Deafy shrug in the corner of his eye. “You’re always interesting to look at.”

Odis glanced over at him. Strange. Deafy said a fair number of strange things, though.

“You believe in God, Palomino?” The question was so nonchalant that Odis had to look over another time, just to make sure Deafy was asking.

“Is that a serious question?”

Deafy grinned, all teeth. “Can’t kill a man for curiosity.”

“Men have been killed for less,” Odis said, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

“Just enlighten me,” Deafy continued. “Do you believe in God?”

Odis thought for a moment, weighing his answer. “I’m God-fearing. But that doesn’t sound like an answer you’d like.”

“Not about what I like,” Deafy said. “It’s about me asking a question and you answering honestly.”

“What prompted this?” Odis asked. “See something at that station back there that rattled you?”

“Neither man nor beast could rattle me of my faith.” Deafy’s voice sank into his preacher’s cadence. “But as a faithful man traveling with an unfaithful one, I find it part of my duties as a priest to ask about the nature of your faith.”

“I’m not unfaithful,” Odis fired back. “Just seen too much shit over the years to make it worth my while.”

Deafy tilted his head. “You’re talking about the war.”

“Among other things.” Odis sniffed, shifting in his seat. “Kansas City isn’t a pretty place. Even you know that by now.”

“Show me a place that is,” Deafy said.

Odis snorted. “Got me there. How do you stay so faithful, then? With everything you must run into in your line of work.”

“My line of work _is_ my faith.” Deafy finally turned his head away, looking out the window, and Odis could feel the weight of the marshal’s stare sliding off him.

“How so?”

“As a member of the Quorum of Seventy,” Deafy started, “I aim to spread the Word to those who may be unreceptive, or to those who have already pledged their hearts and souls to Heavenly Father. Being a U.S. Marshal gives me more opportunity for travel.”

Odis frowned. “You take advantage of your position as a marshal to convert people?”

“’Taking advantage’ are your words.” Deafy smiled, that razor’s edge Odis could spot even with his eyes on the road. “I see it more as my calling.”

There was a beat of silence. Odis huffed, at first, before it turned into a full-on laugh, one he didn’t expect.

Deafy peered over at him. “Something amusing to you?”

“So you’re—” Odis chuckled, struggling to rein in his laughter. “You’re trying to convert _me?_ That’s what this is all about?”

“You’re the one who wanted to come with.”

“Still.” Odis shook his head, still smiling. “Me. A Mormon. On what planet, Wickware?”

“Wasn’t entirely my intention,” Deafy muttered. “But it would’ve been nice.”

Odis laughed again, unable to help it, and he could hear Deafy join in, his low chuckle an easy match for Odis’ sharp one.

“You’re ridiculous,” Odis said after they’d both calmed down.

“I try my best,” Deafy said, and Odis glanced over to see him wink.

They drove on in contented silence, the radio still playing those twangs of guitar strings the whole way.

* * *

Getting to Salt Lake was a two-day drive, so they pulled in to a little bed and breakfast as the sun started to sneak toward the horizon. The building was a bit worn-down, just off the highway, but the light inside the windows looked warm enough. Odis would’ve taken anywhere to lay his head at that point.

As they walked in, the hostess behind the counter gave them a smile, wrinkled but no less dim for it. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“Two beds, if you can,” Deafy spoke up.

Odis let him— he’d done all the driving. Let Deafy handle the rest of the semantics.

“One room okay?” the hostess asked. “We’re a bit booked up tonight.”

Deafy looked over at Odis, raising his eyebrows in a question.

Odis just nodded.

“Should be perfect,” Deafy said, turning back to the woman with a grin. “There any dinner left over?”

“Help yourselves in the dining room, just down the hall there,” the hostess pointed. “Your room’s just up the stairs.”

She handed over the key to Deafy, who murmured a “thank you” as Odis walked to the dining room. There were a few buffet plates laid out against the far wall, and he helped himself to a heaping of everything, starved after the day. There were coffee mugs, too, that he gladly took advantage of.

The room was mostly empty at this hour— most folks at the other tables were finishing up their meals or in the process of leaving. Odis didn’t mind at all. He’d take an emptier room any day over a packed one.

He was halfway through his dinner at one of the little tables when Deafy finally made an appearance, waving. Odis rolled his eyes.

“Got our suitcases up in the room,” Deafy said, taking the seat across from Odis with a piled-high plate of his own.

“Thanks.” Odis took a sip of coffee. “I could’ve helped bring those up.”

“Could have.” Deafy smirked. “You were a bit busy chowing down here.”

“I thought you were right behind me,” Odis protested. “Figured we’d eat before we do anything else.”

Deafy laughed. “Relax, partner. I’m just pulling your leg. I prefer scoping a place out before I do anything else.”

Odis raised an eyebrow over the rim of his mug. “Now who’s the paranoid one?”

“Not paranoid,” Deafy said, gesturing with his fork. “Just careful.”

Their dinner passed in easy silence, and by the time they got up to the room, Odis was more than ready to pass out for the night. He threw off his coat and collapsed on his bed, closing his eyes.

“Mind if I take the washroom first?” Deafy asked.

Odis waved a hand. “By all means.”

He laid there a while, listening to the faint sounds of running water in the sink, the hum of music in the room next door, the creaking of the house around them. He tapped alongside them, one, two, three, four, five, and resisted the urge to get up and pace, trying to rest, to relax his always-anxious muscles.

“You getting up anytime soon, or you sleeping there like that?”

Odis opened his eyes to find Deafy looking over him. He flinched away on instinct, sitting up, and Deafy instantly moved back, his hands up in surrender.

“Easy,” Deafy said. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me,” Odis stammered. “Just… startled, is all.”

“Could say those are the same thing.”

“They’re different.” Odis stared at Deafy a moment. He wasn’t wearing his suit anymore— just had on a plain union suit, his hair a little loose from its usual slicked-back part.

Deafy shook his head, climbing into the other bed. “Sure. Turn off the lamp whenever you like. I’m a heavy sleeper.”

“Yeah.” Odis couldn’t quite tear his eyes away from the marshal. It was strange, not seeing him in his uniform. It felt like peeling back the curtain, finding a piece of someone real underneath all that piety and self-righteous smugness.

“Good night, Weff.” Deafy’s voice was softer like this.

Or maybe Odis was just imagining things. “Good night.”

It took Odis nearly twenty minutes to get into his own bed, waiting for Deafy to fall asleep. Even as he turned off the light, he kept looking over at the other bed, watching the blankets slowly rise and fall in the quiet dark.

* * *

Dawn came and went, and they were back on the road before Odis knew it. Deafy drove this time, and Odis was more than happy to lean back in the passenger seat, rest his eyes as best he could. He’d never been able to sleep in cars— had a hard enough time sleeping in a bed as it was.

“What time are we getting there?” Odis asked. He already knew the answer, but it had been silent for at least an hour now, making him restless.

“Should be another eight hours or so,” Deafy said, revving the engine a little. “We’ll arrive sometime before dark.”

“You told your family we’re coming?” Odis hadn’t dared to ask about Deafy’s family until now, but it was high time he found out who exactly they’d be running into.

Deafy hummed. “They’ll be expecting us.”

“Who? Wife, kids?”

Deafy chuckled, but it sounded wrong, off-key. “Yep. Should be.”

Odis frowned. “You sound like you don’t even know who’s going to be there.”

“Well,” Deafy started, and then he stopped. In all the time Odis had known him, Deafy had never let a sentence trail off, a word go unspoken. The man would rather give a sermon than stay quiet, and to hear him pause like this was more than a disruption. It felt almost blasphemous.

“Wickware,” Odis said, low, “what the hell are we getting into here?”

“You make it sound like I’m leading you into a massacre,” Deafy said, and his smile was wrong, all wrong.

“I can’t believe this.” Odis threw up his hands. “Are you even married?”

“Yes.” Deafy’s answer was quick to the draw.

“You have kids?”

“Yes.”

“Great.” Odis tapped his fingers on his knees, five times in quick succession. “Thank you. That’s all I needed to know.”

“Not going to pry any more into my life, Weff?” Deafy glanced over, and his smile was gone, replaced with that hellfire stare Odis knew too well.

Odis glared back. “I just think talking about your family is a normal, decent thing to do when you’re headed to your family’s place for Christmas. But what the fuck do I know?”

“Language.”

“Stop—” Odis sighed, clenching his fists. “Just tell me the truth for once. And don’t twist it like you always do.”

“Come again?” Deafy leaned over for good measure, his eyes still on the road.

“If you weren’t driving right now,” Odis said, breathing harsh through his nose, “I would be busy punching your fucking lights out.”

“Good to know.”

Odis huffed, turning to look out the passenger window. He struggled to take in normal, even breaths, fingers tapping against one another in shaking patterns. If he was muttering, he didn’t notice, and he didn’t much care if Deafy noticed either, at this point.

Deafy was just so _maddening_. Sneaking his way under Odis’ skin like it was his job, avoiding easy answers in favor of teasing, poking fun. Odis wasn’t even sure why he’d gotten in a car with him in the first place. It had seemed like a way to get back at Deafy before— a play Odis could finally make.

Now it was just too much effort for far too little reward.

Odis stayed silent for the next while, staring out the window like he could crack the glass with his stare. He spotted Deafy in the reflection sometimes, his hat hiding his expression, and he tried not to search for an answer on his face, tried not to focus on him too much.

Deafy finally gave in and broke the silence. “This is no way to be starting off the Christmas season, so I apologize.”

Odis whipped around to look at Deafy. Not once, in an entire year, had Odis heard the words “I apologize” out of Deafy’s mouth. Not even a “sorry.”

“I should have told you more about my family, but…” Deafy’s hands gripped the wheel tight. “Truth be told, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of them in a while.”

“Oh.” It was all Odis could manage to say.

Deafy chuckled, soft. “Hard to get back to Salt Lake when I’m always on the road. And though they’re expecting me for the holidays, they might not be expecting you.”

Odis blinked. “You didn’t call them?”

Deafy shrugged. “Figured it’d be a surprise for them. It’s usually just our clan, but we have plenty of room. One more guest won’t cause an upset.”

“You have a strange idea of surprises.”

“They’ll understand.” Deafy looked over, and Odis met his eyes, unable to read whatever was written there. “I told you once before that I couldn’t leave you out in the cold.”

Odis half-smiled. “I wouldn’t be. I have an apartment, you know.”

Deafy gave a smile of his own, turning back to the road. “Cold has more meanings than just temperature.”

“Thanks for the psalm,” Odis said, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, you wanted a psalm?” Deafy reached over to the radio dial, spinning it until it landed on some lofty choir music.

“No, Wickware, don’t—”

“ _Oh, save me by Thy name_ ,” Deafy sang along, his voice remarkably in tune. “ _And judge me in Thy might_.”

“You’ve made your point!” Odis reached over, flicking the dial away until the speakers crackled with static.

“Shoot,” Deafy sighed with an exaggerated frown. “I was starting to enjoy that one.”

“Co-pilot controls the radio.” Odis changed stations until he found a gentle, crooning voice, singing something about the moon.

“You actually like this?” Deafy scoffed, that smug smile in place.

Odis leaned back in his seat with a little smirk. “You don’t?”

Deafy shrugged. “A bit too sappy for my tastes.”

“It’s a love song,” Odis said. “It’s supposed to be.”

“You a romantic, Odis?”

“I don’t know if I’d call myself a ‘romantic.’” Odis looked over at Deafy, that strangeness in the air, the use of his first name jarring. “But I like this song.”

He tuned back in to the music, humming along under his breath: _Give me a kiss before you leave me, and my imagination will feed my hungry heart…_

It was a newer number, but Odis liked the easy, gentle sway it had, the softness in the singer’s voice.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Deafy said, quiet over the music, “do you ever think you’d find love again?”

“I mind.” Odis said it without thinking, instincts preserving him from thinking too much about Levney, what he had had and lost in one fell swoop.

“Then forget I asked,” Deafy said, taking a turn in the road. “No harm.”

Odis fidgeted with the ends of his coat before he answered, unable to leave the question hanging in the air. “I don’t think I ever would.”

Deafy tilted his head, one hand falling off the steering wheel. “Already lost enough?”

“I guess,” Odis sighed. “It’s more that… I don’t think there’s anyone else for me. I got one shot at it, and that was it.”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Deafy said, as though that were an answer for anything.

Odis snorted, but there was no humor in it. “Said everyone.”

“I’m just trying to give you some hope, Palomino.”

Deafy’s hand rested on the seat between them, and Odis glanced down at it.

“Since when did you take such an interest in my love life, anyway?” Odis asked, looking back up.

“Since you decided to put on love songs.”

“Fine. Point taken.” Odis sighed, switching the stations around until he settled on something jazzy. “Good enough for you?”

Deafy smiled, and it glinted in the early afternoon light. “It’s your choice.”

Odis tried to listen to the steady horns, the wailing saxophone, but his mind kept whirling in on itself, cycling the way it always did. It had a tendency to latch onto strangeness, anomalies in his careful routines, and Deafy was one walking wrench in the works that Odis couldn’t help but fixate on.

His questions, his oddness these past few days— it was enough to draw Odis in like a moth.

“You must know what it’s like,” Odis spoke up. “Being in love.”

“How’s that?”

“You have a wife,” Odis pointed out.

“And?”

Odis frowned. “You telling me you don’t love your wife?”

Deafy laughed. “’Course I do. We were brought together in holy matrimony many moons ago, and Heavenly Father has brought us countless blessings over the years.”

“So, she’s the only one for you.”

“There a particular reason you’re digging into me, partner?” Deafy looked over, one eyebrow raised.

“You asked me first,” Odis said. “Call it curiosity.”

Deafy smiled, an edge to it. “Ain’t there an old saying about curiosity and the cat?”

“Like I said,” Odis muttered, turning away, “you asked first.”

Their conversations died a slow death, after that. They stopped in at a gas station along the way, stretching their legs, and the drive was silent, interspersed with one of Deafy’s occasional voiced observations: a billboard for a familiar store, a field of horses, a ramshackle barn abandoned to the wind.

Soon enough, though, the sprawling countryside turned to city blocks, buildings poking up into the sky. Salt Lake looked like really any other city Odis had seen— gray sky, Christmas lights, colorful pedestrians. A few more houses of worship than he was used to seeing around Kansas City, but much the same.

They passed through the main thoroughfare, heading to the city’s outskirts as the day wound into darkness. Deafy took a few odd turns only he seemed to know, and before Odis knew it, they were pulling up to a little two-story house, a fair distance from any of its neighbors.

The porch was what drew Odis’ eye as he climbed out of the car. It must have been white once upon a time, and windchimes hung from every inch of the rafters, ringing gently in the chilled night wind. A porch swing moved in the breeze, a rough blanket thrown over one end.

“So this is it,” Odis said, grabbing his suitcase from the trunk.

Deafy looked down with a little smile. “Yeah. That’s it.”

Odis glanced back at Deafy, watching him grab his two suitcases. “You need any help with those?”

Deafy waved a hand. “I’m fine, partner. Go on ahead.”

“They’re not expecting me.” Odis tapped his fingers at his side, nerves hitting him like cold water. “Don’t you have to make introductions?”

Deafy chuckled, but he shut the trunk, walking on ahead of Odis with the two suitcases in each hand. “If you’re going to make such a huff about it, fine. But you introduce yourself.”

Odis followed behind, his suitcase suddenly heavy and unwieldy in his hands. The porch steps creaked under his feet as he climbed them, all three, and the screen door rattled when Deafy knocked. There were lights glowing in the upstairs windows, but downstairs looked dim and dark.

Odis was struck with the need to flee. To turn around, get back in the car, and drive away as fast as he could.

Of course, that was exactly when the door opened. Behind it, Odis saw a picture-perfect twin of Deafy— much smaller and feminine, but with those same sharp eyes, the light hair. She scanned Deafy first, whose smile was pitch-perfect, and then looked over at Odis. Her eyes widened a bit before she looked back at Deafy.

“What on God’s green Earth are you doing here, Dick?” the girl asked, tone flat.

Odis blinked. She couldn’t have been much older than fourteen, but she sounded twice her age.

Deafy just laughed. “Good to see you too, pumpkin. Happy Christmas.”

The girl, still unnamed, rolled her eyes. “That’s not my name. Who’s your friend?”

“My partner here can introduce himself,” Deafy said, looking over to Odis.

Now Odis had two pairs of eyes on him, both keen, and his fingers tapped faster. He couldn’t help but chant through his rhyme in his head, _one little, two little, three little Indians_ , before he spoke.

“Detective Odis Weff,” he said, nodding, shaky, to the girl. “And you?”

She actually looked impressed. “Mildred Wickware. Most folks call me Millionaire.”

Odis huffed a laugh. “Why’s that?”

Mildred tilted her head, an echo of her father. “Why do you think? Because I’ll be one someday. Just a matter of time.”

“Well, good luck,” Odis said, the only thing he could think of. He was still unsteady, off-kilter as he knew he would be, fingers restless and mind dizzy. Kansas City was bad enough, but dealing with two Wickwares, and the promise of more of them, got him lost in the depths of his own mind, nerves frayed past snapping.

Mildred squinted down at Odis’ hands. “Why—”

“Think you could invite us in?” Deafy chimed in. “It’s what a good host does, honey.”

“Still not my name.” Mildred walked away into the house, leaving Deafy to open the screen door after her.

Odis could hear her calling out — “Dick’s home!” — as he walked inside. He was barely able to register the front room, a little rug on the floor and shoes piled high next to the door, when the pounding of feet sounded on the stairs in front of them, the ceiling above.

Deafy dropped his two suitcases to the ground as he was tackled by a blur of small children, all with the same light hair. He laughed, his hands moving to pat them all on the back or the head, and Odis stood back in the doorway, watching the display. It felt like looking at some dated television special, distant and strange through static.

They fell silent a moment later, looking up the stairs, and Odis followed their eyes to see the woman that had appeared at the top. Her dark hair was arranged in a soft bob, and she was wiping her hands down the front of her apron, almost absent-minded. The lamp from the upstairs hallway framed her like a silhouette, her eyes glinting in the half-light, and Odis wanted to leave even more now than he did before.

“Look who decided to show up,” she said, her lips quirked up at one corner.

“It’s Christmas, Sarah,” Deafy replied. “Ain’t there that song about being home for it?”

“Since when have you ever followed tradition?” Sarah’s eyes found Odis, locking with his. “Who’s this?”

“Detective Odis Weff,” Odis stammered out. “Sorry to intrude. Your, uh, husband invited me for the holidays.”

“Did he?” Her words sounded less like a question, and more like a statement. “Wonderful. There’ll be plenty of room for you, Detective, if you just give us a while to get a room ready.”

“Again, didn’t mean to impose,” Odis said. “I’d be fine anywhere.”

“Nonsense.” Sarah climbed down the stairs, walking around the gaggle of children without sparing Deafy a single glance. “We have a guest room, and you’re a guest.”

Odis nodded. There was something about this woman— something relentless in the way she held herself, something that made her seem much taller than her small stature presented.

She smiled, no teeth. “I assume you two are hungry. There should be leftovers.”

Odis watched her leave for what must have been the kitchen down the hall, tapping at his side. He glanced over at Deafy and found him looking after Sarah, but his expression was blank, carefully neutral.

Something odd here, and Odis couldn’t wait to leave.

“Daddy, look!” a small voice called. Odis looked over to see one of the smaller children, another girl, hold up a drawing.

Deafy peered at it. “Very pretty, sweetpea.”

“Daddy, look at this!” Another child — one that looked exactly the same as the first — held up a piece of paper, what looked like writing scribbled over it.

“Gorgeous, honey,” Deafy said, scanning over the letters.

“You have to _read_ it,” the second girl protested.

“I showed my drawing first!” the first girl chimed in.

“Who’s that?” a third voice joined in. It belonged to the tallest girl, who held a toddler in her arms. The baby was decked out in tiny overalls as it grabbed for Deafy, who kept ducking just out of reach.

All their eyes turned to Odis.

Odis swallowed, preparing his little introduction again. “Detective Odis—”

“Weff, we heard.” Mildred reappeared in the doorway to Odis’ left, squinting at him. “You must not be a very good detective.”

“I—”

“Be nice,” Deafy interrupted, finally freed of the children’s grasp. He strolled over to Odis, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Odis couldn’t help the flinch.

“This here’s my partner,” Deafy said, looking at each of the children in turn. “And he’s our guest for this most sacred of holidays. So, welcome him home just as warmly as you’d welcome yourselves.”

There was a beat of silence. Deafy raised his eyebrows.

Mildred sighed. “Welcome to our home, Weff.”

“What did I just say—”

“Weff is fine, marshal,” Odis said, quiet. “I’ve been called worse.”

“Like what?” Mildred asked.

“Shush.” Deafy pointed to the rest of the kids. “Odis here already met one of you, but why don’t you introduce yourselves? Go down the line.”

“I’m Dinah,” the tallest girl spoke up. “And this here’s Dickie. Say hi.”

The baby in her arms waved. Odis, hesitant, waved back, and Dickie grinned, only a single tooth in his head.

“I’m Lillian!” one of the smaller girls piped up.

“And I’m Lorraine. We’re twins,” the other one said.

“And they’re lying to you already,” Mildred said, rolling her eyes. “The one on the left is Lorraine. The one on the right is Lillian.”

“Are not!”

“Are too.”

“Girls!” Deafy held up his hands, much like a preacher. “I think we should let our guest get settled in, hm?”

The children all glanced at Odis, who was trying his best to look calm. His hands were both frantic at his sides, though, so he wasn’t doing a particularly good job.

“It was nice meeting you all,” he managed to say.

Mildred shrugged before she vanished back into the other room. Lillian and Lorraine waved before they scampered up the stairs, and Dinah approached Deafy, handing him the baby.

“Here, you take him for a while,” she said. “He misses you.”

She followed the twins up the stairs, and Deafy awkwardly repositioned Dickie in his arms, dodging the little swipes of the baby’s hands.

Odis didn’t look over at him. “You have… a vibrant house.”

Deafy nodded. “They’re a handful and a half. Hey, could you do me a favor?”

Odis looked over, already dreading whatever Deafy was about to ask. When he saw Deafy holding Dickie out to him, he nearly bolted out the door, never to look back.

“Just hold him a moment, will you? I’ll grab your suitcase.” Deafy actually looked pleading, his smile turned into more of a grimace.

Odis glanced between his face and Dickie’s, who looked like he was about to cry.

“Fine,” Odis sighed. “But you owe me.”

“I’ll do anything,” Deafy said, practically tossing Dickie into Odis’ arms. “Be back in a moment.”

And Deafy was gone up the stairs like a flash, and Odis was left holding Dickie in his arms like a sack.

Odis readjusted Dickie in his arms, trying to get used to the weight. He’d never really held a child before— sure, maybe once upon a time he’d dreamed of having a kid with Levney. But it wasn’t in the cards. Besides, he never really thought he’d be a good father with all his uncertainties.

And yet here he was, holding a baby who looked like he was about to burst into tears.

“Hey, shh,” Odis tried, bouncing Dickie lightly in his arms. That was what people did, right?

Dickie just looked more upset. He let out a little hiccup, and Odis froze, needing more than anything to just tap out a ritual but his hands were full and he needed to get this kid to calm down _now_.

In a panic, Odis moved Dickie to his left arm and freed his right hand, covering his face.

Dickie sniffled, but he was quiet. Curious.

Odis slowly slid his hand away from his face and tried a smile. “Peek-a-boo!”

Dickie stared back at him, eyes wide.

Odis tried again, hiding his face before revealing it again with a big smile.

Dickie smiled back, all gums, and Odis breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t know much about kids, but at least that old trick still worked.

He kept at it, getting Dickie to even laugh at one point, and for the first time in a long time, Odis’ smile didn’t feel forced.

Dickie reached out, grabbing at Odis’ nose.

“Hey,” Odis protested. “Ouch.”

Dickie was relentless, though, his tiny hands on Odis’ cheeks, knocking Odis’ hat to the ground. Odis tried to come up with his next move— find one of the other children, maybe? They’d know what to do with this kid, right? And where the hell was Wickware—

The soft click of heels on the carpet startled him, made him turn to see Sarah approaching down the hall. She stopped short when she saw Odis, placing her hands on her hips.

“Did he dump you with the baby?” she asked.

Odis huffed. “Um—”

“’Course he did,” Sarah muttered, shaking her head. “He’s a right bastard when he wants to be.”

Odis blinked. Did she just curse? “Well, I don’t—”

“Here, I’ll take him,” Sarah interrupted, holding out her arms. Odis carefully handed Dickie over, his little hands falling from Odis’ face to grab at Sarah’s hair instead. She looked no worse for wear, though— she managed to make it look easy as anything.

Odis, meanwhile, felt like he’d just been through a case and a half. He grabbed his hat from the floor and carefully placed it on a side table by the door, brushing off the invisible dirt.

“Dinner’s on the table,” Sarah said. “You can follow me.”

Odis trailed after her down the hall, glancing at all the portraits on the wall they passed along the way. Serious photos of the children, poised to perfection, but none he could spot of Deafy.

The hallway opened into a small kitchen, messy in that way that all kitchens tend to be. The counters were neat, though, spices and jars lined up in careful, even rows. Dinner on the table was potatoes and some sort of meatloaf, with a glass of milk on the side. There was a plate of half-finished gelatin displayed in the center for dessert.

Odis sat down carefully at the table, watching Sarah place Dickie in a small wooden high chair.

Sarah looked over at Odis. “Dick made it.”

Odis blinked. “Sorry?”

“The chair,” Sarah explained. “He actually made it. Can you believe that? He still do any wood-working wherever you’re from?”

“Kansas City,” Odis said, digging in to the potatoes. “And not as far as I know. He, uh, never told me he was a carpenter.”

Sarah barked a laugh as she headed for the sink. “A carpenter! No, he just likes his little projects. Gets invested and then abandons them.”

Odis chewed on his potatoes a moment. He could see it now, strangely— Deafy, sleeves rolled up, sanding down the edges of a pair of handles, a little seat.

“Thank you again,” Odis said, over the sound of Sarah scrubbing at a pot. “For dinner. And everything.”

“It’s not a problem.” The way Sarah said it made it sound like it was.

Odis looked away, catching eyes with Dickie, who was clapping his hands. He waved, and the baby waved back, or at least clapped again. Odis wasn’t really sure.

“He likes you,” Sarah said, walking back over with a dish rag in hand. “He usually doesn’t take to strangers so easy.”

“If I’m being honest, I’m not sure why,” Odis admitted. “Never been good with kids.”

“None of your own?” Sarah’s gaze was altogether different from Deafy’s, but still heavy, like she knew what Odis was going to say before he did.

“No.” Odis pushed at the meatloaf on his plate with the fork. “Never married.”

“A bachelor.” Sarah scoffed. “So, be straight with me.”

Odis looked up. “About?”

“Is he sleeping with you yet?”

Odis, with a mouthful of potatoes, choked. He coughed, grabbing the glass of milk and taking a sip that he barely kept down.

“Sorry,” Odis said, still hoarse. “What?”

Sarah leaned up against the table, looking down at Odis. “I asked you an honest question. Give me an honest answer. He sleeping with you, or what?”

Odis stammered, unable to think of a reasonable response. “Why—”

“Hmph.” Sarah threw the dish rag over her shoulder. “I suspected as much. He must be. He actually brought you home, which is a first.”

“We are not an— an _item_ ,” Odis finally managed, cringing at the word. “We work together. Sometimes. I didn’t have anywhere to be for Christmas.”

“A likely story.” Sarah eyed him. “I know what my husband is like. He stakes his claims and shows them off, and you’re the prize this year.”

Odis put down his fork, trying not to grit his teeth. “Look, you have the wrong idea about me, and I just want to be civil with you.”

Sarah arched an eyebrow. “Is this not civil?”

“This is—” Odis sighed, fingers tapping. “This is not what I signed up for, so can we just start off on the right foot here?”

Sarah shrugged. “By all means. Explain yourself, Detective.”

Odis took a breath, but his whole body was still humming with that nervous energy, his hands restless. “I was assigned to work with your husband a year back. We didn’t get along, frankly.”

Sarah snorted. “Doesn’t surprise me. The man’s a bull-headed bastard.”

Odis frowned at that same word again. “Do all Mormons curse, or is it just you?”

“Oh, now the cop gains a spine,” Sarah said with a false smile. “That’s between myself and God, if you don’t mind keeping your nose out of it.”

Odis huffed. “Like I was saying. We arrested some runaway cons and went our separate ways, but he kept coming back. So, we worked a few cases, here and there. Grabbed lunch. That’s it.”

“And now you’re in my home for dinner, many miles away,” Sarah said. “How’s that?”

“I—” Odis sighed. “I invited myself. Don’t have any place to be for the holidays, and Wickware practically invited me to begin with.”

“Practically,” Sarah echoed.

“That’s it.” Odis stood, grabbing his plate from the table. “If you don’t mind, I’ll wash up.”

“Suit yourself,” Sarah said, moving out of his way. Her eyes followed Odis the whole way, stuck to his back like targets. Odis knew the feeling well, and it had been a while since it felt so pointed, enough to raise his nerves past their breaking point.

He took off his gloves, scrubbing harshly at his plate with a sponge. Sarah just stood there at the table, occasionally cooing to the baby, though Odis could barely hear it over the water. It was like all his senses were shutting down or firing up, the water louder than his own breathing, the scrape of the sponge against ceramic harsh against his ears. He needed to get out of this house but he was stuck here, with a partner he barely knew and kids who were far too curious and a woman who seemed to make it her mission to make his life more difficult in as short a time as possible.

“You going to be there all night?” a voice behind him asked.

Odis looked back and there was Deafy, hip cocked against the doorway. It was a strange relief— one familiar face in a sea of unfamiliarity, a point of clarity as Odis’ mind worked to muddle everything else.

Odis turned off the water, shaking his hands to dry them. “Did it take you all night to drag those suitcases upstairs?”

Deafy chuckled. “Easy. You two getting along?”

He glanced over at Sarah, who had taken Dickie back into her arms. She was rocking him slowly, and he seemed to be halfway to sleep.

“Your son and I are getting along just fine,” Sarah said to Deafy, her mouth in a thin line.

“I meant—”

“I know well what you meant, Dick.” Sarah moved one hand from Dickie’s back to point at Deafy. “I’m putting Richard to bed, and then you and I are going to talk. Properly.”

Deafy just nodded, moving out of Sarah’s way as she walked by, those little heels loud on the wood floors.

Odis found himself pulling at the edges of his gloves, trying to drag them closer to his skin, as though that were possible.

“I should go,” he blurted out.

Deafy looked over at him, that smug smile back and bright as ever. “Why would you do a thing like that?”

“This was a mistake.” Odis tapped his fingers, rubbed his palm. “I’m only intruding here. I can find a little motel somewhere, drive myself back—”

“You,” Deafy said, taking a step closer, “are going to stay put.”

Odis scoffed. “You think you can just push me around, marshal?”

“I think you came all this way.” Deafy tilted his head. “Be a mighty shame if you up and left us now. Besides, the guest room’s set up, and we can’t leave you—”

“Out in the cold, yeah,” Odis muttered. “I know. Only told me a hundred times.”

“I was going to say,” Deafy started, “we can’t leave you without a proper Mormon Christmas, as God so intended.”

Deafy smiled, and Odis sighed, resigning himself to his fate. He’d gotten himself into his mess— least he could do was see it through.

Odis followed Deafy upstairs, past the few doors that must have been kids’ rooms, to the door at the very end, on the left.

“It’s not much, but it’s yours for as long as you’re willing to stay,” Deafy said, leaning on the doorway. “Washroom’s just across the way.”

Odis looked around at the little room— the bed that took up most of the space, the handsewn pillows and the crocheted blankets, the lace doilies on the nightstand. His suitcase was placed on top of the bed, his hat resting on top.

“Figured you’d want that back,” Deafy said, gesturing to the hat.

Odis nodded. “I could’ve gotten it.”

“I got it instead. No harm, no fowl.” Deafy walked in close, gave Odis just enough time to turn as he clapped Odis on the shoulder.

Odis jumped, but Deafy patted his shoulder again, softer.

“Whoa there, Palomino,” Deafy chuckled. “Just saying good night. Let me know if you need anything, and we can show you a little more Mormon hospitality.”

Odis snorted as Deafy walked back to the door, halfway out. “I think I’ve had enough hospitality for one day, thanks.”

Deafy turned and winked. “Anytime, partner.”

Then he was gone down the hall, and Odis was left alone in a strange room in a strange house, wondering when the hell his life had gone so topsy-turvy.

* * *

Odis woke at dawn the next morning out of sheer habit. It wasn’t like him to get much rest— sleep was something cold and distant, a way to kill time that had never really worked in his favor.

He dressed and went downstairs, the chill of the wooden floors seeping through his socks. The steps creaked under his weight, no matter how lightly he stepped, and the carpet down on the ground floor didn’t do much to disguise the noises, either.

Odis just hoped he didn’t wake the wife after last night. He’d heard voices downstairs as he tried to fall asleep— Deafy’s easy cadence, Sarah’s sharp tone. The words weren’t clear, but Odis could guess what they were talking about so late into the night.

Sarah’s words still churned over and over in his mind, even now as he tried to find a mug in one of the cupboards. What had she meant by it all, accusing him of… well. Odis couldn’t let himself think about it too long, the strangeness of it all. He didn’t even _like_ Deafy, by all accounts.

He finally found a mug and hunted around the little jars for something resembling coffee, or tea, even, when a voice chimed in behind him.

“If you’re looking for coffee, we don’t have any.”

Odis jumped, turning to see Mildred standing in the door.

“Millionaire,” he said by way of greeting.

She blinked at him. “You remembered. That’s something.”

She padded into the room in bare feet, a little cardigan tugged around her shoulders and over her nightgown. She was about half Odis’ height, maybe less, but she held herself the same way Sarah did— taller than anyone else in the room.

“I forgot you folks don’t drink coffee,” Odis admitted, putting the mug back where he’d found it.

“You’re not Mormon?” Mildred peered up at him, arms crossed. “Then what are you? Catholic?”

Odis half-laughed. “No. Not— not really much of anything, to be honest.”

“Then who do you pray to?”

“No one.”

Mildred raised an eyebrow. “Faithless and Godless. What kind of father brings someone like you home with him?”

Odis felt almost like he was being questioned down at the precinct, and the sensation made him tap his fingers at his side, quick. “You’d have to ask your father that one.”

“I don’t need to ask him anything.” Mildred turned to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of orange juice. “You want some? I’ll make you a deal.”

“A deal?” Odis asked. “For the orange juice?”

Mildred nodded. “What else? You answer my questions, and I’ll give you some.”

Odis had to hold back a laugh at her antics— she acted far beyond her years, but she was still a kid. “Tell me this. How old are you?”

“Old enough to make deals.”

“Okay, fine,” Odis said, walking around her to the kitchen table. “Pour me a glass.”

Mildred poured two glasses, both perfectly even, and handed one over. Odis took a sip— it was oddly sweet.

“So,” Mildred said, sitting down across from Odis, “you’re a detective.”

Odis nodded. “I work in Kansas City.”

“What kind of crimes do you work on?”

Odis tapped his fingers. “Depends on the day. Some thieving, burglaries.” He tried not to mention any of the grislier stuff— she was still young, even if she refused to say her age.

But Mildred leaned in across the table, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “What about murder?”

Odis huffed. “You want to know about that? It’s a bit—”

“I don’t care.” Mildred looked at him straight-on, eyes wide and serious. “No one will tell me anything and I’ve had to find it all out myself. Books only say so much.”

Odis met her gaze, and he found something desperate in the way she clutched at her glass, the pleading in her eyes. He didn’t know what to do, but he figured trusting his gut was as good a place to start as any.

“Swear you won’t tell anyone,” he said, leaning in a little.

Mildred nodded and held out her hand. “Swear.”

Odis shook her hand, firm. When they let go, Mildred was sitting straight up in her seat at attention.

“Murder’s a tricky thing,” Odis said. “It’s never pretty. But little things can tell you a lot. People, too.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” He thought back, trying to find a good case. “I was assigned to the shooting of a hospital director and a society matron he was with. She died, while he was just spooked.”

“What did it look like?” Mildred asked, her voice an awed whisper.

Odis shrugged. “Gruesome. Glass all over the ground from the car they were in. Bullets shattered the windows. There were shells on the ground.”

“And the body?”

Odis tried to find a way to describe it without scaring the poor kid to death. “Body’s a body. They’re all the same, really. Cold and a little broken.”

Mildred tilted her head. “So how’d you solve it?”

Odis tapped once, twice, remembering how soon he’d realized the Faddas were involved. “I did a few interviews with the hospital staff. One of the witnesses, the director, claimed—”

The sound of footsteps on the creaking floors stopped Odis mid-sentence. He looked back to see Deafy, arms stretched above his head in a yawn, strolling down the hall toward them.

“Morning, all,” Deafy said, walking in. “What are you doing up, missy?”

Mildred rolled her eyes at the words. “You should know what my name is. I’m always up early. You forgot again.”

“Didn’t forget,” Deafy said, grabbing the bottle of orange juice from the table. “Just making conversation.”

“It’s not conversation if we already know the answer.”

Deafy shook his head as he poured himself a glass of juice. “Weff, you coming to the service this evening?”

Odis blinked. “The what?”

“It’s the Sunday before Christmas,” Mildred chimed in, “which means church, which means Sunday School. Ugh.”

Deafy pointed at Mildred with his glass. “Don’t you ‘ugh’ our Heavenly Father. You should be happy to be celebrating the Lord’s birth with your family.”

“Sunday School is boring,” Mildred said. “And that’s not God’s fault. It just is.”

“Someday you’ll change your mind,” Deafy said, taking a sip of juice. “When I was your age, I felt the same way—”

“No, you didn’t.” Mildred scooted back from the table, hopping off the chair. “You were probably born saying scripture.”

She stormed off down the hall, pulling her cardigan tight around her shoulders, and Odis just watched her go, a little stunned by the display.

“She knows what she wants, huh,” Odis said into the silence.

Deafy nodded. “She’ll come ‘round. Everyone does.”

Odis frowned. “Shouldn’t you go talk to her?”

“Why?” Deafy looked genuinely confused.

“Never mind.” Odis finished off his glass, tapping along the sides. “What were you saying about service?”

“Well,” Deafy said, “we have a meeting this morning, which you may not be inclined to attend. But the Christmas service is this evening if you’d like to join us.”

Odis shrugged. “I’m here as your guest, aren’t I? If I’m allowed to go, I’ll go.”

Deafy laughed. “’Course you are! The chapel’s open to visitors. And you have my blessing.”

“Your blessing.” Odis had to laugh, quiet as it was. “Don’t think I need any of those, marshal.”

“You need all the help you can get.” Deafy sat down in the chair Mildred had left empty, stretching out his legs under the table. One of his socked feet bumped Odis’, and Odis suppressed the urge to jump at the contact.

“Sure,” Odis said, a little unsteady. “You leaving the house to me, then?”

Deafy shrugged. “I trust you well enough. Don’t go burning the place down, and we should be just fine.”

“There’s no fear of that,” Odis huffed. “I’ve never been one for arson.”

Deafy raised his eyebrows with a smile. “No? Could’ve sworn you were the type.”

Odis rolled his eyes. “Stop. I’ll keep myself busy. You, uh, enjoy church.”

“Will do.” Deafy took a swig of juice, and again, his foot tapped Odis’. If Odis didn’t know better, he’d almost think it was deliberate.

Either way, this time, he didn’t feel the need to flinch.

* * *

The rest of the family appeared in due course, rushing about with hair pinned and dresses ironed to perfection. Odis just watched it all, waving an awkward goodbye from the door when they all piled into the car and left. Deafy was the only one who waved back.

Then Odis was alone, in a strange house, stuck on the outskirts of a strange city.

He wasn’t a detective for nothing, though, so he figured a little investigation was due. Nothing invasive— Odis was never the type to poke his nose into places where they didn’t belong, though he’d fallen into the habit purely by accident in recent years. There was plenty on display for all to see in the living room, the kitchen, all the little hallways and nooks around the house.

He perused the portraits in the hallway first, taking a closer look than he had the first night. They didn’t reveal much more to him— just various photos of the children, together or separate, covering the hall down to the kitchen. There were no photos in the kitchen, really, save one on a bureau next to the dining table that must have been grandparents of some sort. Odis peered at them, trying to see a resemblance, but they looked more like Sarah.

Still nothing on Deafy. Not a scrap. Even in all the little things around the house — abandoned knitting needles, piles of crayons and paper, stacks of mystery books and Bibles alike — there wasn’t a single piece Odis could point to definitively as Deafy’s. It was like he didn’t live in the house at all— a ghost in his own home.

Upstairs, Odis found much the same story. Framed prayers and hymns on the walls, scraps of soap in the bathtub, a copy of the Book of Mormon in the side drawer in the guest room. Pieces of other lives.

The rest of the doors all the way down the hall were closed, save for one. Odis passed it a few times, trying not to peer in the cracked opening, but he couldn’t help a glance or two. And from what he could see, it wasn’t one of the children’s rooms.

It was Sarah’s and Deafy’s. Presumably.

Odis had never considered himself a good person. He tried, sure, like everyone did, but he wasn’t in the least devout to any cause, religious or otherwise. He survived each day by the skin of his teeth, spending far too much time wondering than acting.

It wasn’t hard for him, then, to push at the cracked door just a bit more and peek inside.

It was a room Odis had expected and hadn’t at all. It was plain, which he’d suspected based on the rest of the house, but instead of one bed, there were two single ones. They looked newer— the wood on the headboards had a dull gleam that wasn’t present in any of the other furniture around the house.

Odis fit this new piece into the growing puzzle of the Wickwares, startled at the conclusions he could so easily jump to now.

He started to move back from the room when he spotted Deafy’s hat sitting on the dresser, just next to the doorway. It was the final temptation, and Odis had gotten this far already.

He reached out and picked up the hat, turning it over in his hands. It was worn, more so than it appeared, but sturdy, the brim straight and even. With the gloves on, he couldn’t quite feel the texture, but it felt rough, catching on the leather of his gloves.

Inside, there was a little label stuck to the underside with carefully embroidered writing: “Richard Wickware.”

Odis frowned, one more piece sliding into place. If his name was Richard, then the baby must be a junior. Dickie and Dick— both just nicknames.

He stared at the embroidery for longer than he should have, tracing the letters with his eyes. Deafy didn’t strike him as the type of man who knew how to sew— but then again, Odis hadn’t known he was once into woodwork, either.

He placed the hat back, straightening it to exactness, and pulled the door back to where it had been. Odis’ fingers tapped at his sides, and he muttered under his breath, his search around the house more disorienting than helpful.

What mysteries could he solve from a man who left nothing behind?

* * *

Odis didn’t have to wait long for the family to reappear— he’d only barely sat down in the living room to wait when the sound of tires rumbling down the dirt road shook him out of his thoughts. Soon, storming little footsteps sounded up the porch steps, and the door burst open, Lillian and Lorraine running inside.

“Give it back!” one of them shouted. Odis tried to figure out which one— he noted that this twin wore little boots.

“No!” the other one yelled back. She had Mary Janes on, and she was holding a piece of paper above her head, keeping it just out of reach of the first twin.

“Just give it—”

“It’s mine. Mine, mine, mine,” The Mary Jane twin sing-songed, and Odis watched as the other one scrunched up her face, close to tears.

Odis took in a breath and stood up, walking over as quick as he could. “Hey, hey. Break it up.”

“She stole my drawing,” the boots twin said, her eyes still brimming with tears.

“So what, Lillie?” The other girl — who must have been Lorraine, Odis noted — stuck out her tongue.

“Hey,” Odis tried again. “Let’s take a breather, okay? Can you girls tell me what happened?”

“She stole—”

“I was just trying to—”

Odis held up his hands. “One at a time. Lillian, why don’t you go first?”

He crouched down to their eye level, looking at the twin wearing boots. They both seemed taken aback, and Lillian took a moment to sniffle.

“I made a drawing,” Lillian said, her voice small. “And Lorraine stole it from me and told me she was going to show everyone.”

Odis nodded. “Okay. Lorraine? What happened?”

Lorraine stomped her foot, the heel of her Mary Janes sharp against the wood. “I thought it was a good drawing and I wanted everyone to see. That’s all.”

Lillian looked over at her sister, eyes wide. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Lorraine rolled her eyes, but Odis could tell it was for show. “So stop being such a crybaby.”

“Hey,” Odis interrupted. “I think someone deserves an apology, don’t you, Lorraine?”

Lorraine shrugged, dragging her toe along the ground.

Odis raised his eyebrows and waited, his elbows on his knees.

Finally, Lorraine sighed, as Odis suspected she would. “Fine. Sorry, Lillie. Here’s your drawing back.”

She held out the paper, and Lillian carefully took it as though it were an oil painting.

Odis clapped his hands, the sound softened by the gloves. “There we go. Everyone happy?”

The twins nodded, and soon they were scampering off elsewhere in the house, their footsteps echoing on the hardwood.

Odis slowly stood up, stretching his knees, when he spotted Deafy standing in the doorway, his keen eyes fixed on Odis.

“Oh. Didn’t see you there,” Odis said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry to take up the hall.”

“It’s no problem. The first lady and the other three went out back for a bit,” Deafy smiled, and for once it looked genuine. “You solved that dispute like it was nothing.”

“Just talked to them like suspects,” Odis said and winced at the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. “Not— not like that. Just tried to get the full picture and let them figure it out themselves.”

Deafy tilted his head. “And you said you’ve never taken care of children before?”

“No.” Odis shifted, his hands restless. “My girl— she had a niece. Met her a handful of times.”

“I take it you haven’t seen her in a while.”

Odis just shook his head. The memories were hazy, now— half-remembered afternoons at Levney’s sister’s, the sun bright and the child running across the lawn, Odis laughing after her. Levney waiting for him, always, with a glass of lemonade. Or was it iced tea?

“Well,” Deafy sighed, leaning back on his heels, “thank you for clearing that up. I wouldn’t know where to start with them.”

Odis glanced up, frowning. “They’re your kids.”

Deafy looked away, his lips only turned up at one corner, taut like a bow. “I’m not a natural by any means.”

Odis opened his mouth to ask, to get answers for the many questions brewing in the back of his mind, when he felt a little tug at his sleeve.

He looked down to see Lillian, her little hand on his arm.

“Come here,” she said, all business.

Odis glanced back at Deafy, who only gestured for him to go on.

“Lead the way,” Odis said to Lillian, and she dragged him into the little sitting room, out of Deafy’s sight.

“Look,” Lillian said, holding out a piece of paper.

Odis took it carefully, examining the little drawing. It must have been the one she was so protective over before, and Odis could see why. It seemed half-finished, only parts of it colored in, but it depicted eight little figures, all lined up in a row. Odis could spot Deafy’s tall hat, Sarah’s curled hair, and each of the children, all the way down to little Dickie, one sketched hair poking up from his head.

Next to Deafy, though, was an extra figure— someone in an orange hat and tie.

Odis blinked, finding it hard to speak for a moment. “That’s— that’s your family?”

Lillian nodded, pointing to the tiny people. “Daddy and Mama, and Didi and Millie, and me and Lorraine, and Dickie and you. You’re here for Christmas, which means you’re family.”

“Oh.” Odis felt some pang, deep down in his chest, the kind he hadn’t felt in years.

He cleared his throat as Lorraine looked expectedly up at him, waiting.

“It’s beautiful, Lillie,” he said, a genuine smile on his face. “Really. They’ll all love it.”

She grinned, bright and missing a couple of teeth. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“Really _really?”_

Odis laughed. “Really _really_.”

He carefully handed the drawing back and watched as Lillian pressed it reverently to her chest, hiding it from the world once more. She waved her hand, a beckoning motion, and Odis crouched down again, leaning in.

Lillian cupped her hand around his ear and whispered. “It’s for Daddy. It’s a secret, so don’t tell him.”

Lillian leaned back, and Odis nodded, his expression as serious as he could make it. “I swear. Detective’s honor.”

He held one hand over his heart, holding the other up as though he were taking the oath on a Bible. Lorraine laughed at the display.

“You’re silly,” she pronounced.

“Thank you,” Odis said, putting his hands down.

Lillian frowned a moment before she rushed off, little feet quick on the stairs.

Odis shook his head, standing up. Kids.

She was back in another minute, though, with Lorraine in tow. The two of them had stacks of paper in hand, crayons stuffed in their fists. They dropped them on the coffee table in the center of the room and went right to work, looking up at Odis.

Odis got the message. He sat down, legs criss-crossed, and grabbed a crayon and a paper.

“You like to draw, too, Lorraine?” Odis asked, trying to think of something he could feasibly draw.

Lorraine scoffed— an odd sound from a girl no older than eight. “No. I write stories.”

“Oh,” Odis said, tapping his chin with the crayon. “What kind of stories?”

Lorraine met his eyes with a serious pout. “Good ones.”

Odis tried to suppress a laugh. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You can’t read them,” Lorraine said, turning her gaze back to her paper. “This one’s not done yet, and I don’t like you.”

“Well,” Odis said, for lack of anything else to say. “I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe someday we can get along.”

Lorraine shook her head. “Not likely.”

Odis chuckled to himself, looking back down at his own paper. He carefully started to draw— little flowers at first, tiny stars, repeated patterns and swirls.

The three of them spent a relatively quiet afternoon like that, all focused on their own work. Every once in a while, Lillian would reach over and tap Odis’ arm, and Odis would look at the drawing she’d made and give it due compliments. Lorraine would watch them, her eyes narrowed, and then turn back to her paper, scribbling furiously.

Odis finally felt a little tap on his arm and looked up to see that it wasn’t Lillian.

“You can read this one,” Lorraine said, shrugging all casual. “If you want. You don’t have to, though.”

Odis hummed. “I might. Let’s see here.”

He slid Lorraine’s story over, giving it a thorough read, making sure to hum once or twice, or widen his eyes in surprise. He could feel Lorraine’s stare fixed on him the whole time, despite her attempts to play it cool. It was a funny little story— a girl and her friend caught out in the snow befriended a squirrel, and they got into all kinds of mischief.

“How old are you?” Odis asked when he got to the end.

“We’re seven,” Lillian chimed in.

“Shh!” Lorraine frowned. “I’m seven and a minute. I’m older.”

“Well,” Odis said, his smile growing, “this is the best story I’ve seen from any seven-year-old, or anyone even older than that.”

Lorraine gasped, genuine. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Lorraine looked at him in awe for a few moments more before she remembered to be dismissive, shrugging it off like it was no big deal. “Well, okay. It’s not the _best_ best one. I have better ones. And I can make one right now that’s better. So there.”

Odis laughed, handing the story back over. “I trust your judgment, Miss.”

“Not Miss,” Lorraine cut in. “Mama calls me Spanish.”

“All right, then,” Odis said. “I trust your judgment, Spanish.”

Lorraine gave a definite nod. “Thank you.”

It wasn’t much, but Odis would take it. The living room started to feel a bit warmer after that, Lillian and Lorraine smiling more often than not, and Odis found he even enjoyed himself, scribbling away with the twins. It was nice to just take a break for a while— to remember that some things, like crayons and a piece of paper, were still as simple as they’d always been.

He barely saw the rest of the quiet household— Mildred passed by once or twice, her nose stuck in a book, and neither Sarah nor Dinah made an appearance. Odis didn’t know the house well, but sometimes he swore he could feel eyes looking at the back of his head, and he’d turn, expecting to see Deafy standing there.

But he never was.

“Dinner!” Sarah called out some time later, and Lillian and Lorraine jumped up, rushing off to the kitchen with neither a “so long” between them.

Odis took a bit longer to leave— straightening up, he could feel the ache of having sat cross-legged all day, the twinge in his back from being bent over the table. He approached the kitchen with a careful wariness, still uncertain what the rules were here, still unsettled by the last time he’d seen the family all together in the same room.

By the time Odis got there, the table was nearly full. There was one empty seat next to Deafy, who sat at the head, of course.

“Come on in, Odis,” Deafy said, gesturing to the open space with that smirk of his. “Don’t be shy.”

Odis glared at him, just for a moment, before he sat down. To his right was Dinah, the only child he hadn’t gotten much of a chance to talk to. She was the eldest of the bunch, that much was clear, but it was hard to read anything behind her placid smile.

The rest of the children were antsy in their seats— the twins next to each other, both reaching out for dishes of potatoes before a sharp glance from Sarah, at the other end, stopped them in their tracks. Mildred sat across from Odis, staring at him. Odis fidgeted under the weight of it, muttering under his breath.

“Now that we’re all here,” Deafy said, “why don’t we ask for the Lord’s blessing?”

He held out his hands, and Mildred immediately took his left, everyone grasping hands around the table. Odis hesitated, looking over at Deafy.

Deafy gave him a slight nod, holding his right hand out a bit further to him.

Odis sighed, but he took Deafy’s hand. Dinah took Odis’ other hand, barely gripping it.

“Let us bow our heads and ask God for good tidings during this time of the Savior’s birth,” Deafy said, his voice carrying that ring of a preacher. “May we have the strength to do His will, and the courage to preach our faith.”

Odis kept his head down, but he opened one eye, peeking at the others. The children had their eyes shut tight, but Sarah was looking straight at Deafy, her expression unreadable.

“And so it is written,” Deafy continued, “’For every creature of God is good, and nothing to be refused, if it be received with thanksgiving.’ Amen.”

“Amen,” Odis said, soft under the chorus of other voices around the table.

The clatter of dinner soon rose, Lillian and Lorraine finally getting potatoes on their plate, and Odis helped pass the dishes around, watching the family for cues on what to do, what to say. They didn’t speak much— only to ask for a different plate, a request for the salt.

That was until Mildred broke the silence. “Why do you keep doing that?”

Odis looked up to see Mildred staring at his hand. He’d been tapping on the fork, muttering as soft as he could, and he jumped now to be caught.

“Pumpkin, leave our guest alone,” Deafy said, his voice gentle but no less stern for it.

“How many times are you going to get my name wrong?” Mildred asked.

“That’s enough.” Sarah put her glass down with force. “No arguing at the dinner table.”

“I’m not arguing, I’m just asking—”

“Mildred Everett Wickware, you stay quiet and eat your dinner,” Sarah interrupted, her knuckles white on her fork.

Mildred scoffed, but she turned back to her plate, pushing the carrots around. “Bet you the detective here knows our names better than Dick does.”

“You can call me Odis.” He startled himself with the interjection.

Mildred looked up, tilting her head. “Fine, but only if you get all our names right. Bet you that you don’t know.”

Odis glanced down the table, everyone’s eyes on him. He carefully put his fork down, balancing it on the edge of the dish, pushing it until it was in just the right spot.

“Well,” he started, “you know I know who you are. You’re Mildred, but you like being called Millionaire.”

Mildred nodded. “Reckon so. What about everyone else?”

Odis looked across the rest of the table. “Lillian and Lorraine like to be called Lillie and Spanish. Don’t know where that last one came from.”

“The rain in Spain,” Sarah said with a little smile, as though that explained anything.

“And then there’s Dinah and Sarah,” Odis said, “and I’m not sure if you have nicknames.”

“Didi’s what the little ones call me,” Dinah said. Her voice was softer than Odis expected, almost drowned out even in the hush.

Sarah shook her head. “Not everyone needs a nickname.”

“I think they’re mighty helpful,” Deafy chimed in. “Good for remembering things.”

Mildred looked at him, incredulous, and Odis interrupted before she could open her mouth. “How did I do, Millionaire? Do I pass?”

Mildred shrugged. “Fine. So you know everyone, big deal.”

Odis breathed a sigh of relief when she finally stopped looking so closely at him, the conversation rolling elsewhere. He picked at his own dinner for a few moments, at least happy to be ignored.

When he looked up, though, Deafy’s eyes were on him. Even with the children gabbing around him — Lorraine weaving some yarn about her school friend, Lillian cutting in with little remarks — Deafy just kept looking at Odis, almost studying him.

Odis huffed, his voice quiet. “What?”

Deafy’s smirk grew. “Nothing. You just keep surprising me, that’s all.”

He turned back to the twins’ story, saying something about school, but Odis couldn’t focus. He just kept turning the words over and over in his mind, searching their edges for a blade, a sharp jab hidden in the letters, but there was none. Just authenticity, so unfamiliar in Deafy’s voice.

* * *

Mormon Christmas service was a bit different than Odis expected. Then again, he didn’t really know what to expect— his memories of childhood church were foggy at best, and even Christmas Mass with Levney was long-buried, the prayers and responses all forgotten.

There was a lot less call-and-response here, for one thing, which put Odis at ease. The hymns were a bit trickier to follow, and as the bread and water moved around the congregation, Odis fidgeted in his seat, afraid of having to pass and let everyone around him know he didn’t belong, that he didn’t know a damn thing that was happening.

But despite Odis’ fears, Deafy didn’t say a word otherwise. He just took the tray of bread easily from Odis’ hands, passing it along to Sarah and the children. Odis gave him a grateful look for his troubles, and Deafy smiled, reaching over.

Odis flinched, prepared for anything, but Deafy just patted his knee, a flicker of warmth.

“Easy,” Deafy murmured. “We’re not converting you just yet.”

Odis tried not to snort, and largely failed.

The rest of the service was much more relaxed, with Christmas songs that Odis recognized and speeches about giving thanks, doing good works, and all the usual holy platitudes. It was over before Odis knew it, and soon he was being ushered outside, lost in a stream of people headed for the exit.

He hung back at the doors, watching Deafy as he shook hands with members of the congregation, other men who Odis guessed were priests of some sort. They were all smiles, and it was strange, how similar Deafy was speaking to these people as much as he was speaking to the officers back in Missouri.

Odis supposed Deafy had been right, after all— being a marshal and a priest were one and the same.

“Looking for something?” a voice asked, and Odis jumped to find it was Sarah at his shoulder.

“No,” he stammered. “Nothing. Just waiting.”

She raised one perfect eyebrow. “Sure. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. Same way you’re looking now. Takes a woman to see things like that.”

Odis frowned. “You’re on this again? I don’t know how many times I have to say that we just work together. I— I don’t even _like_ him.”

“Now there’s something we agree on,” Sarah chuckled.

They stood in silence a while, watching the congregation disperse one family at a time. The kids were running around on the lawn outside with some of the other children, while Dinah was off standing with a few girls her age, all of them giggling about something.

“You miss him?” Odis asked, glancing over at Sarah. He wasn’t sure why he’d asked, or if she’d even give him a straight answer.

Sarah shrugged. “Some days I do. But the kids and I go on just fine without him. It’s when he shows up like this that I wish he’d just make a decision.”

“To stay or leave?”

Sarah nodded, her expression distant. “What about you? He make you any promises he can’t keep?”

Odis looked back over at Deafy, something stirring, something unfamiliar, forcing him to speak honestly when he hadn’t planned on it. “He saved my life. I never expected anything else from him after that.”

“How?”

Odis met Sarah’s eyes. “I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I don’t.” Sarah smiled, every edge of it pointed. “But I’m curious, and you’re the most interesting thing that’s happened since Dick up and left again.”

Odis dropped his gaze, fingers tapping a rhythm, _onetwothreefourfive_. “I wasn’t a very good cop.”

“Show me one that is.”

Odis snorted. “I was in the pockets of some local Italians. Not my best moment, and it got out of hand fast.”

Sarah shook her head. “Would you be offended if I said I wasn’t surprised?”

“Not at all.” Odis sighed. “They sent some gunmen after me. I was stuck. Trapped in my car and staring death in the face.”

Sarah’s smile had fallen, and she didn’t say a word.

“I— I thought I was a goner,” Odis admitted. “I was ready to just take it, and then—”

He remembered it all at once: the razor sting of the headlights flicking on, Gaetano’s silhouette behind the open door. Odis’ gun slipping out of his hands, skittering away, sweat beading down his forehead, the click of the lock, too quick and too slow.

Meeting Gaetano’s eyes, the certainty there. Facing it head-on.

And then the shot— just one. Gaetano slumping to the ground with a bullet in his skull, and Deafy appearing in his place, a specter out of the fog, his gun pointed straight ahead.

Odis had forgotten how to breathe.

Then more shots had rung out, Josto’s voice yelling, and Deafy ducked down, firing back. Odis just watched it all unfold, still convinced he was about to die when Deafy flung open the car door.

He didn’t speak as he grabbed Odis’ hand and dragged him out of the car. Odis found he couldn’t say a word either, his legs moving and his hand gripping tight to Deafy’s but his mind gone somewhere else entirely, stuck on a repeated loop as shots fired out around them, all missing, all failing to hit home.

“We took his car,” Odis said, the story spilling out of him, now, the memories like backwater breaking in a stream. “Drove out of town. Wickware dropped me off at some motel, and I laid low for a couple of days. By the time I got back to Kansas City, the trouble was over.”

“Pardon me, but Jesus Christ,” Sarah muttered.

Odis couldn’t help but laugh, the sound off-kilter. “That’s— that’s why.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by saying it— maybe that was why he kept meeting Deafy, kept working with him, despite all the evidence that pointed to why Odis shouldn’t. Maybe it was why he was here, standing next to Sarah, staring at a man who didn’t seem to care about either of them in different ways.

“I would tell you to stay away from him,” Sarah said, her voice even, “but you wouldn’t listen. Same as I didn’t.”

And with that, she walked away, her steps carrying her to Deafy’s side, and Odis could only watch.

* * *

The next morning, Odis came downstairs to a quiet house— quieter than normal, or what had appeared normal these past days. He found Deafy lounging at the kitchen table, legs stretched out at a ridiculous angle.

“Morning,” Odis said, looking around. “Where’s everyone gone to?”

Deafy smiled, mouth tilted sideways. “School. Kids still have that nowadays.”

Odis huffed. “I thought they would’ve had the day off. It being Christmas and all.”

“Not until Christmas Eve,” Deafy said. “Besides, Sarah’s still here with the baby. Upstairs, I think.”

“You haven’t seen her?”

Deafy just sighed, getting up from the table. “You want some orange juice?”

Odis shook his head, and Deafy grabbed himself a glass.

“You remember how you owed me the other day?” Odis asked. “Taking care of Dickie for you and all?”

Deafy whistled, a long, slow slide. “This can’t be good.”

“I wanted to ask,” Odis started. “You don’t have any decorations up.”

It had become glaringly obvious, especially during Odis’ little investigation around the house. There wasn’t one piece of tinsel on the railing, one little Santa or ornament hung up and sparkling. The place wasn’t barren, but it felt more lacking than Odis’ apartment did. At least he had a tree.

“We have a few,” Deafy said, turning. “Up in the attic someplace. My first lady used to lead the charge every year, but I think she’s lost a bit of the Christmas spirit.”

“You don’t say,” Odis muttered.

Deafy raised an eyebrow, leaning up against the counter.

“Nothing,” Odis said, waving his hand. “Just… I could decorate. I’m here, and I’ve got nothing to do. The kids would like it.”

Deafy frowned, taking a sip of juice. “You think?”

It was an entirely genuine question— at least from what Odis could read in the furrow of Deafy’s brow.

“Yes,” Odis said, slow. “You don’t?”

Deafy shrugged. “I’ve never been much for decorating. I’m more interested in the spiritual nature of the season, if you catch my meaning.”

“Of course you are,” Odis sighed. “Mind showing me where those ornaments are, then?”

“Will do,” Deafy smiled, quick, and put his glass down. “Follow me, Palomino.”

Between the two of them, they managed to drag out stacks of boxes from the attic, accessed via a little ladder in the hallway’s ceiling. There were all sorts of baubles inside, wrapped carefully in hand towels. Ornaments made out of popsicle sticks and pipe cleaners, signed with scribbled names on the back that belonged to each of the kids, and glass bulbs in all colors, shining in the light.

Odis started to arrange some of the figures he found on the mantel — little choir singers with tiny sheets of music in their hands — and Deafy grabbed his hat from the coat rack.

“Reckon we need a tree for all those ornaments?” Deafy pointed to the open boxes strewn around the living room.

Odis nodded. “I’ll get the rest of these things up by the time you get back.”

Deafy turned to leave.

“You will come back and help me,” Odis said, making sure every word was clear. “Right, Wickware?”

Deafy looked back, his grin wide and unabashed. “I’m not running out on you, Weff. I swear.”

He was out the door before Odis could blink. But Odis’ mind felt settled, the same way it did whenever he arranged things just right.

The morning passed into afternoon, light bouncing off the Santa figurines Odis placed around the kitchen, the snowmen in the upstairs hallway, the nutcrackers lining the living room. The tinsel sparkled on the railing, and Odis stood back at last, admiring the way the house had transformed, even if it was only slight.

The creak of the door behind him made Odis turn, and the first thing he saw was the poking branches of an evergreen.

“You lost in there?” Odis asked, moving over to help.

“Sort of,” came Deafy’s voice, his face obscured by pine needles.

The tree was easy enough to set up, planted in the corner of the living room, the top of it brushing the ceiling. And true to Deafy’s word, he helped with the ornaments, hanging them with no complaints.

He was chatty as ever, rambling on about the man selling trees he’d met just down the way. Odis was content to listen as he pulled decorations from the boxes. Each one told him a different story— a worn little figure with a trumpet in its hand, a toy soldier with his baton held aloft. A ballerina, her tutu made of soft feathers.

He couldn’t help but watch Deafy work, pausing at times to look at the stretch of his arms under his shirt, the way he squinted at the tree, searching for an empty spot. Sarah’s words rattled around in Odis like a marble set loose, her warning to stay away from Deafy a scratched record on repeat.

“You have something to say?” Deafy asked, catching Odis in his tracks.

Odis blinked. “Why?”

Deafy just smiled, slow and troublesome. “Keep staring at me like I committed a crime.”

“I just—” Odis stammered, trying to find the words to ask. “Your wife said some things to me.”

Deafy chuckled. “My first lady says a lot of things. You’ll have to specify.”

“She seemed to— she implied—”

“Odis,” Deafy said, voice low and gentle, “take it slow.”

Odis took in a breath. “She asked if you slept with me.”

Deafy went completely still. Odis could see it in the lines of his back, the unnatural steadiness of his hands as they held an ornament halfway to the tree.

“Did she?” Deafy asked, but it wasn’t a question.

Odis swallowed. “Look, I don’t know what she meant by it. She must have been teasing me.”

“Teasing,” Deafy echoed.

“Poking fun. We’d just met, and we…” Odis huffed. “We don’t get along, I’m sorry to say. But it’s been bothering me.”

“I could understand that.” Deafy’s voice continued in that strange, even tone, his drawl unusually absent.

“You all right?” Odis walked around the tree, trying to get a peek at Deafy’s face. “Wickware—”

“Right as rain,” Deafy said, and Odis could see the false smile there now and his stomach sank quick and fast.

Odis tapped, _onetwothreefourfive_ , _onetwothreefourfive_ , and couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would make any of this better, so he went for the easiest route. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Deafy asked, his smile strained, close to snapping.

“Bringing it up. I shouldn’t—”

“No,” Deafy said, finally hanging the ornament in his hands. “It’s all right. You were onto something— Sarah likes to poke fun like that. It’s her way.”

Odis nodded, but it felt like swimming through a thick current. “Right.”

They dressed the rest of the tree in silence, and Odis wanted to take back his words more than anything, crush them between his fingers like shards of glass and swallow them whole.

It was lucky the children arrived home so soon after— bursting through the door, a wave of sight and sound, chatter and laughter that had started to bring Odis some relief. The twins marveled at the decorations, running up and down the stairs to spot them all, and even Mildred looked with wide eyes at the tree, examining each ornament up close. Dinah asked to put the star on top of the tree — the last piece — and Deafy fetched a stepladder for her, everyone cheering when the tree was done at last.

And even though Odis had worked all day for this, this moment, he hung back, his thoughts a blurred, tumbled mess, anxiety itching the back of his mind like sandpaper. He snuck upstairs, hiding out in his room as he struggled to breathe, tapping out patterns on his fingers, the floor, the door at his back, curled up as he was on the ground. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he kept thinking, this wasn’t supposed to happen, and yet things were happening beyond his control once again, rendering him lost in a current he couldn’t fix, among people he didn’t understand.

Everyone was a stranger to him, and when dinner arrived, Odis passed through it all unseeing, forgetting it as it unfolded.

It was easy to get away after that, going back up the stairs with the intention to lie down and try to empty his mind for a while. But in this house, nothing was ever easy, and Odis was stopped at the landing by Mildred, planted right in his path.

“Dick doesn’t want me asking you anything,” Mildred said, “but he can’t stop me.”

Odis was so, so tired. “What do you want, Mildred?”

Mildred frowned. “What’s your deal? You’ve been acting weird.”

“You don’t even know me.” Odis walked around her, collapsing in a small chair that had been abandoned in the hall.

Mildred just stormed over to him, hands on her hips. “Two days is long enough. I want to know why you fidget so much.”

Odis didn’t even open his eyes, his head tilted back against the wall. “I have a condition.”

“What kind?”

“Kid—” He sighed, opening his eyes. Mildred was still right where he’d left her.

“I’m not a kid. I’m practically an adult already.”

Odis snorted, but it was empty. “What are you, twelve?”

“Thirteen,” Mildred huffed, crossing her arms. “You’re a bad guesser.”

“I was only a year off.” Odis chewed the inside of his lip. “Why do you ask so many questions?”

“Because no one around here answers any!” Mildred exclaimed, her arms out in a childish wave.

Odis watched as she drew her arms back in, hunching in on herself, and he saw once more that desperation to be heard, to be understood, that he recognized so often in the mirror. He didn’t know the kid, not really, but it felt like she looked at him like a trapped convict looked at an open window. If he could be a means to escape, she’d try, no matter the cost.

Odis sighed, running a hand through his hair, resignation settling in him like a stone. “Fine. Ask away.”

Mildred frowned, hesitant. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“What kind of condition?” Mildred asked again.

Odis shrugged. “Nerves. I get these… urges, I guess. Need to fix things so they’re just right, mark out patterns in the right order.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

“That’s not an option,” Odis said, hands unsettled. “I don’t know how else to explain it.”

Mildred tilted her head. “Why are you a detective?”

Odis blinked at the abrupt change in topic. “Why are you asking?”

“I want to be one,” Mildred said, as though it were the easiest thing in the world.

“Kind of like your dad?” Odis asked before he could think better of it.

Mildred shook her head, vicious. “ _Nothing_ like him. I want to solve crimes better than he ever could.”

Odis leaned back, thinking. “I… I guess I’m a detective because it felt like something I could handle. Every crime has a solution, whether it’s easy to get to or not.”

“Not because of justice?” Mildred asked.

Odis huffed. “I wish I did. You’re a better person than me, Millionaire.”

Mildred frowned, that same furrowed look Deafy got sometimes. “How many crimes have you solved?”

“How many?” Odis tapped his fingers, trying to pluck a number from thin air. “I’ve been on the force for years, but not all of them get closed. Let’s say a lot, and not nearly enough.”

“Then you’re a good person,” Mildred said, simple as anything. “Solving cases means you helped people.”

Odis stared at her for a moment. “I’m not as good of a detective as I should be.”

“But you try your best, right?” Mildred asked. She was so genuine that it nearly killed him.

“Yeah,” Odis said, hoarse. “I guess I do.”

Mildred smiled, and it brightened her face like a sunbeam. “Then that’s justice. And you answered all my questions, so I think you’re all right.”

Odis smiled back, voice still caught in his throat. “Just all right?”

Mildred shrugged, but her smile didn’t vanish. “If you help me become a detective, then you might get a bit better in my books.”

Odis had to laugh. “Slow your roll, Millionaire. Enjoy being a kid first.”

“I told you, I’m almost an adult—”

“All right, all right, I heard you,” Odis said, slowly getting up. “You have any of those books you were talking about earlier? We can start your detective lessons there.”

Mildred’s eyes lit up, a little Christmas tree herself, and she practically ran downstairs, Odis following behind at a much slower pace. It was odd, how easy she’d pried into his heart like that, how gently and unknowingly she’d set it right.

The rest of the family was piled in the living room, but Odis found that he paid them no mind, for once. He spent the evening hunched over books on the coffee table, Mildred asking questions a mile a minute and Odis indulging with answers every step of the way, the others a distant memory.

* * *

Dawn found Odis still awake, no chance of sleep now that the sun was up. He made his way downstairs instead, hoping to at least sit a while before anyone bothered him.

It was a surprise to find someone else up this early— a further one to find Dinah and not any of the others he’d run into.

She didn’t notice him at first, washing up at the sink. Over the running water, though, there was a soft sound, and Odis realized she was singing.

“ _Although it’s been said_ ,” she sang, “ _many times, many ways, Merry Christmas to you…_ ”

She shut the water off and turned, jumped when she spotted Odis. He held up his hands.

“Sorry,” he said, instinctual. “You, um, have a lovely voice.”

She tied and untied the apron at her waist, not quite smiling. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be up this early. Thought I’d get some work done and help Mama out, but…”

“I won’t get in your way,” Odis said, moving back to leave.

Dinah held out her hand, as though reaching. “No, no, you can stay. I’ll make some eggs for us early birds.”

Odis carefully sat down at the table, watching Dinah move about the kitchen as though in a hurry. She looked an awful lot like Sarah, despite her light hair, but there was nothing in her mannerisms that made them similar. She was frantic where Sarah was calm, her dress rumpled instead of ironed to perfection.

“You sing a lot?” Odis asked, trying to make conversation.

Dinah laughed, the sound barely there. “No, not really. With everyone at church, sure, but never by myself.”

She looked back over her shoulder, smiling. “Well. Only when no one’s listening.”

“Sorry for catching you,” Odis said, looking down. “I don’t sleep much.”

“We’re much the same, then.” Dinah cracked two eggs in a little pan, dicing them around with a fork.

Odis watched the eggs sizzle on the stove, the quick movements of Dinah’s wrist. “I’m not one for talking, either.”

He could already sense it— her preference to stay quiet. She shot him a grateful smile and said nothing more as she cooked, serving up scrambled eggs on two small plates. They ate in silence, too, but it was the comfortable sort, the kind Odis favored.

Neither of them spoke until Odis stood up, grabbing the empty plates. Dinah went to stop him, but he gave her a look.

“Said you were working all morning, right?” he asked. “Let me help a bit.”

Dinah just nodded, and he washed up, drying off the other dishes that had been left over. In quiet, the two of them tidied the kitchen— Dinah pointing to a corner and Odis heading over with a dusting rag, while she worked on organizing the plates in the cabinets.

The only sounds were the clink of silverware, the soft hiss of dust thrown loose. But then Dinah started to sing again. Her soft voice, softer now, and Odis didn’t say a word, listening close. It was a peace offering of sorts.

Even when the rest of the family appeared, when the children headed off for school, Odis made sure to wish Dinah herself a nice day. She’d fallen into the background, and Odis could sense that wasn’t an unusual occurrence for her.

Her small smile as she left, though, told him he’d done something right, at least this time.

The moment was gone quick when Deafy appeared with Dickie in his arms, holding him out to Odis like a used tissue.

“Would you mind watching him for a while?” Deafy asked. He sounded normal— like nothing had happened the day before, like Odis didn’t suspect him of something that could bring his world down in a blink.

Odis looked between him and the baby. “I don’t mind, but why?”

Deafy sighed, practically forcing Dickie into Odis’ arms. Odis quickly adjusted his grip, finding it a little more familiar now.

“The first lady’s asking me to drive her into town for supplies,” Deafy said, gesturing behind him. Odis glanced over his shoulder to see Sarah in the doorway, her short heels tapping as she pulled on a coat.

Odis looked back at Deafy. “I won’t say you owe me again, but…”

Deafy huffed a laugh, half-hearted. “All right, I get it. Back soon.”

He walked down the hallway like he couldn’t wait to get away, the screen door swinging shut behind him and Sarah. Odis took Dickie to the doorway to wave, and together, they watched the car pull out the long, dirt drive.

“Now what are we going to do, mister?” Odis asked, looking at Dickie.

Dickie babbled, his sticky hands grabbing for Odis.

“Okay, okay,” Odis laughed, ducking just out of reach. “Someone’s energetic.”

He tried playing with Dickie in the sitting room, finding little toys scattered here and there. A rattle, a plastic bunny, some sort of train with a bell inside. Dickie still seemed restless, crawling all over the place and evading Odis’ reach.

Odis sighed, resting back on his heels as he watched Dickie wriggle away from him again. “Okay. Maybe we need to go out, too.”

Odis figured the tiny coat on the coat rack was Dickie’s, and he dressed the two of them up, tugging a little hat on over Dickie’s head. The baby gurgled in response, pulling at the hat.

“Keep that on,” Odis said, pointing. “Or your ears will be in trouble.”

Dickie just waved at him with his little hands.

Odis picked him up and they were off, walking around outside the house. It gave Odis a chance to explore, and Dickie was happy enough, making little cooing noises at everything they saw. He delighted when a bird made an appearance on a nearby tree, yelling back when the bird tweeted, clear and crisp.

The yard extended out into woods— a big field, separated from the neighbors by distance without fencing. It was odd, being out in so much space after being confined to the tiny, furrowed alleys of the city. Odis found that the crunch of snow under his feet felt crisper, the sound of Dickie blabbing away not the bother it might have been otherwise.

Odis shifted Dickie on his hip, and for once, his mind fell quiet. It was just him, the baby, and the snow.

It didn’t last, but most things didn’t. Dickie managed to tug his hat off and toss it down into the lawn, and Odis gave a long sigh, bending down to grab it as Dickie cheered.

“I think that means you’re ready to go in, huh,” Odis said.

“Bah!” Dickie exclaimed.

Odis picked his way back to the house, stomping his boots in the doorway to shake off the snow. Getting Dickie’s coat off was a chore with the way he was wriggling around so much, and Odis practically threw his own coat off, afraid Dickie would fall or get into some nonsense when he wasn’t looking.

He didn’t, but Odis scooped him up straight away, headed for the kitchen.

“Think there’s anything in here you can eat, buddy?” Odis asked, placing Dickie in his little high chair.

Dickie clapped. “Buh, buh.”

Odis, tired out as he was already, smiled. “Going to have to be more specific than that.”

Dickie just smiled back, of no help. Odis turned to look in the cabinets, picking through until he saw jars of baby food.

“You like mashed peas, Dickie?” Odis asked.

From the squish of Dickie’s nose, Odis could already tell the answer was a resounding “no.”

One can of peas and a very fussy baby later, Odis finally heard the front door open, Deafy’s voice calling out: “You alive in here, Weff?”

“We both are,” Odis called back.

Sarah appeared in the doorway first, hands full of packages. “He give you any trouble?”

“Loads,” Odis said. Dickie hiccupped next to him, still a bit put-out from lunch.

Sarah almost smiled. “You got him to eat, from what it looks like. That’s better than most.”

“Least I could do.” Odis moved to the counter to help unpack the bags, packages of meat and potatoes and vegetables for what he only assumed could be Christmas. “You need help with dinner?”

Sarah looked over at him, sharp. “No.”

Odis sighed. “It was just an offer. I’d like to help.”

“You’ve done nothing but be helpful,” Sarah said, placing a few cans in the lower cabinets. “You’re meant to be a guest.”

Odis caught the sting in her words, but he found they didn’t bother him much, not now. “A surprise guest. Least I can do to repay your generosity.”

“Hmph.” Sarah frowned, but she tossed an apron at Odis, which he barely caught. “Put this on and we’ll see.”

Odis wasn’t a very good cook— he knew how to make a few basic things, enough to keep himself fed and moving along. Baking was somewhat of a hobby, but cooking was a different beast, more about timing and experimentation than measuring and careful accuracy.

Sarah, on the other hand, was scarily efficient. She moved the same way she always did, that air of knowing everything before it happened, and it came in handy here, multiple pots and pans on the little stove, flicking through one while turning up the other. Odis was tasked with peeling potatoes and carrots. It wasn’t much, but when Sarah looked over his work, she nodded in approval.

Maybe that’s what made dinner more relaxed that evening. Odis had started to feel settled, a strange house becoming less strange by the minute, and Sarah spoke to him, once or twice, if only to thank him for his help. It was enough.

His mind at ease, Odis planned on sitting a while with the kids, asking them about their day, when a hand at his elbow stopped him in his tracks. And who else would it belong to, really?

“Mind following me outside, Palomino?” Deafy asked, the words low and oddly urgent.

Odis met his gaze, nodded. It felt like finality of some kind— the conversation he knew had been coming all along.

He followed Deafy out the back door to a little porch, much smaller than the one at the front of the house. Here, there was no swinging seat, no wind chimes. Only a few short steps to the yard, Odis’ footsteps from earlier still visible in the fogged moonlight.

Deafy sat down on the top step with a sigh, his breath clouding in the chilled air. Odis joined him, a careful distance away. The boards were cold underneath him, making him shiver.

“This is where I go to think,” Deafy started, voice loud in the still night air.

Odis looked around, the trees gone strange and unfamiliar in the dark. “It’s quiet. Good for that kind of thing.”

“Especially on nights like this,” Deafy said. “Though I much prefer spring. More birds to call to.”

Odis raised an eyebrow, glancing over. “Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that you know how to do bird calls.”

Deafy grinned before he let out a low sound that quickly swung up into a high, twittering whistle.

“Impressive,” Odis said, trying to hold in a smile.

“Thank you kindly.”

It was silent a while, not even wind disturbing the relative peace.

Deafy shifted, the sound whispering and harsh all at once. “I feel I should be honest with you, so I will if you’ll let me.”

Odis watched his breath fog, trying to remember what his settled mind had felt like earlier. “By all means, marshal.”

“You don’t have to keep calling me that, you know.”

“What am I supposed to call you?” Odis asked. “Deafy?”

Deafy laughed, sudden and bright. “You could try.”

Odis shook his head, looking out at the snow. “I could call you by your first name.”

“Dick’s fine.”

Odis paused before he asked, turning the words over and over in his mind, five times to be certain. “What about Richard?”

He could feel Deafy’s eyes on him straight away, that stare that always managed to see right to him— not through. “How’d you figure that one?”

“Your kid,” Odis admitted. “Richard Jr., right?”

Deafy tilted his head, movement in the corner of Odis’ eye. “You just guessing? Or do you have proof?”

Odis finally turned, meeting Deafy’s sharp gaze with one of his own. “I don’t need proof when it’s not a case. Or when the suspect is as much as admitting to my face.”

Deafy snorted, a quiet sound. “Fair played, Weff.”

Odis looked back out at the trees, tracing their limbs with his eyes. In the silence, he thought he could hear Deafy breathing, the gentle current of air not quite in time with Odis’ own breaths.

Deafy spoke up, as Odis thought he would. “Richard is fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Odis nodded to himself, almost testing the name out by saying it aloud. “Richard, then.”

Deafy inclined his head before he sighed, finally getting more than a few words out. “I wanted to thank you for helping so much, Odis.”

Odis frowned, not expecting it. “With what?”

“The kids.” Deafy reached into his jacket pocket for something before coming out empty-handed. “I don’t— I take it you’ve realized I don’t know them all too well.”

Odis snorted. “Mildred thinks you don’t know any of their names, so no, I didn’t think you did.”

“I don’t.”

“What—” Odis turned to look, but Deafy was looking resolutely out at the lawn, refusing to look Odis’ way. “You don’t know their names?”

“I’m not—” Deafy sighed, a harsh brush of air turned to fog. “I’m not good at this like you are.”

“Richard,” Odis said, the name still unfamiliar, “I’m not their father. I’m not anyone’s father.”

“Doesn’t mean you ain’t a natural.” Deafy glanced over, his eyes shining odd in the half-light. “I’ve seen the way you talk to them. You just pick up what they’re putting down like it’s easy as anything, and I don’t know where to start.”

“Sarah,” Odis blurted out like that was an answer for anything. “She helps, right?”

Deafy barked a laugh. “She’s as much a mystery to me as my own kids.”

And it was the answer Odis had been looking for, the one conclusion each piece had spiraled to, but watching it unfold, watching Deafy confirm it, was something altogether different. It didn’t feel right, the way it did when Odis solved a case. It felt like falling, like hitting the ground with a hard slap, over and over.

“So what,” Odis said, tripping over his words in their haste to be spoken, “you run off from them? Sleep with men on the side?”

It was entirely the wrong thing to say. Odis knew it as it happened, and he only wanted this to be over, for Deafy to shove him off the porch into the snow, drive him out like he should have from the start.

But Deafy just laughed, even if it was a bitter, bitter noise. “Jumping to conclusions, Detective.”

“Seems plain to me.”

Odis wanted to get up, to pace, to yell himself hoarse, but he stayed seated, freezing his ass off in the cold, tapping his numb fingers together like it’d solve anything.

“Sarah’s accused me of the same things over the years,” Deafy said, and it was resigned, every line of it. “Things you’ve been dragged into, and for that, I do apologize.”

“Sure,” Odis huffed, still brimming with that need to punch and be punched.

Deafy didn’t speak for a moment that went on too long, and when Odis looked over, he found him opening and closing his mouth, the marshal at a loss for words he was never without.

“She’s not wrong,” Deafy finally managed.

Odis stayed perfectly still. “You’re Mormon.”

“That I am.” Deafy’s breath rose around him, almost obscuring his face from view. “I’ve wandered from the path the Lord set before me more times than I care to confess.”

“You’re a priest,” Odis said. He wasn’t sure why this was what he was stuck on, but it was.

Deafy nodded. “One with sin in his heart that he has tried more than anything to purge.”

“So you do think it’s a sin?” Odis asked. This was a treacherous line to walk, but Odis had been in worse, far worse, and his curiosity so often got the better of him, driving him head-first into the fire.

“That’s what we’re told,” Deafy murmured.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Deafy met Odis’ eyes, and this was getting perilous, Odis could feel it down to his chilling bones. “If I told you I didn’t know, would that be enough of an answer for you?”

Odis could see it, then— the familiar confusion, one he’d forgotten he ever had. When Odis was younger, much younger, he’d worried to no end about his brimming feelings for the girl with the bow in her hair that sat in the second row, followed shortly by his stuttering heart whenever the tall farm boy with the perfect eyes looked his way. That uncertainty was short-lived, as he soon realized he had bigger things to worry about then who he fell into bed with when no one was looking.

And then he’d fallen for Levney, and everything had worked out for some time. And after she was gone, it didn’t much matter what his body did or who with while his heart locked itself away.

But Deafy was stuck, that much was clear as the night sky now, trapped in those parameters he’d set for himself so long ago, and it wasn’t Odis’ job to fix it but he wanted to, and wasn’t that the trick of it all?

“I’m not an expert by any means,” Odis said, low, “but don’t they also say that the heart wants what it wants?”

There was another moment of stillness, one where Odis didn’t know if he’d shut Deafy down for good, when Deafy finally chuckled, as breathy as it was.

“Guess they do,” he said, and Odis looked down, noting the hand Deafy had placed between them. “What’s your preference, then?”

It was dangerous, far too dangerous to tell any sort of truth. Odis leaned into the conversation anyway, Deafy a cold breath and a half away.

“I’m not choosy,” Odis said, meeting Deafy’s gaze as he did.

Deafy’s lips turned up at the corners and fell before they went any further. “Strange that a man who doesn’t even like me knows all this now.”

Odis leaned back to laugh, shaking his head at Deafy’s answering chuckle. “You had to tell someone, I guess. Could’ve been anyone.”

“But it was you.” Deafy tilted his head, shadows falling across his face in untraceable patterns. “When did you stop hating me?”

The question stopped Odis in his tracks. “Who says I did?”

Deafy gestured— around them, between them. “What was it you were saying earlier about proof?”

Odis huffed, but in a moment he could call weakness, afraid to call it anything else, he reached over and laid his hand on top of Deafy’s.

Deafy’s fingers twitched before they lay still, and Deafy himself got a look in his eye— something unknown.

“Let’s save ourselves the trouble,” Odis said, “and leave it at us being friends.”

“I think I can live with that,” Deafy murmured.

Odis nodded before he let go, already fighting the new urge rising in him to leave his hand there a little longer, let the warmth of Deafy’s hand under his become comfortable and known.

“I’ll leave you to your thinking,” Odis said instead, rising from the porch. He could already feel the cold stiffness in his muscles, the ache that would no doubt follow him into the morning.

Deafy nodded up at him, a different kind of smile on his face, one Odis had never seen before. “I’ll let you know if anything comes of it.”

“Yeah,” Odis replied, forcing himself to turn. “You do that.”

The house was quiet when he stepped back inside, and though it was warmer here, the chill leaving him slow, Odis found his steps up the stairs harder to take than they’d ever been. Sleep was even more difficult to catch. For longer than he should have, he stayed awake, thinking about Deafy out in the snow.

* * *

The morning brought Odis a plan. He cornered Deafy as soon as the kids were gone off to school for their last day, his hat and coat already donned.

“You free today?” Odis asked.

Deafy eyed him, a quick up-and-down look. “All dressed and ready to go somewhere?”

“I—” Odis sighed. “I need your help.”

Deafy smiled, slow as a needle falling over a record. “I’m listening.”

“I want to get presents,” Odis said. “For the kids. I think I know them a little better now, and they deserve a little extra something on Christmas.”

“Well, why didn’t you just say so?” Deafy strolled over to the front door, throwing on his coat and hat in one smooth motion. “I’ll drive.”

The ride to town was quiet, though the streets of Salt Lake City were packed. Shoppers walked in front of traffic with bags loading them down, and car horns sounded out in a cacophony that put Odis on edge, clicking the car lock a few extra times when they finally found a parking spot.

The department store they entered was as much of a madhouse as it was outside. More, even. Odis should have expected it — it was only two days until Christmas, after all — but he was jumpier than usual, flinching at every brush of elbows.

“Hey,” Deafy said, leaning in close, and somehow his voice carried even through the crowd. “You need a hand, partner?”

Odis just nodded to him, giving permission, and Deafy took his arm, guiding them through the packed masses of people and up to the toy section above. They broke through after a minute of pushing, and Odis was able to see the emptying shelves, the bits and bobs strewn about. The warmth of Deafy’s hand on his arm vanished as soon as it had appeared, and Odis tried not to miss it.

He was able to find a few gifts from what was left: new crayons for Lillian, pencils for Lorraine, a set of measuring cups for Sarah. A book of Christmas music for Dinah, some new detective novel for Mildred, and a softer winter hat for Dickie. It didn’t take them long after that to leave, packages tucked away in a brown paper bag along with some wrapping paper and string.

But throughout their stay, Odis found Deafy staring at the shelves and shop windows more than once, an expression not unlike confusion on his face.

“What did you get them for Christmas?” Odis asked as they walked to the car.

It took Deafy a moment to respond. “What?”

“The kids,” Odis clarified. “You got them gifts, right?”

It didn’t take a detective to read the look on Deafy’s face.

Odis placed the bag down in the car, walking over to Deafy with his hands out. “Okay, look. We can find something back in there, I’m sure.”

Deafy shook his head. “You already got them things they’d want. I don’t— I don’t _know_ them. And I wouldn’t begin to know the heads or tails of gift shopping.”

“You were just in there a minute ago.”

Deafy shrugged. “I was following your lead.”

Odis sighed, trying to maintain some composure. “Is there anything you could make them?”

“Make?” Deafy frowned. “Like what?”

It dawned on Odis, all at once, the way the best ideas do. “Sarah said you used to do woodworking. Couldn’t you carve something? We could pick up some timber now, get some decent material to work with—”

Deafy was nodding along, that smile drawing its way back onto his face. “Odis, you’re smarter than anyone ever gives you credit for.”

“What was that? A compliment?”

“Don’t fish for more than your line can hold,” Deafy laughed, patting Odis on the shoulder. “All right. Let’s roll.”

Deafy left Odis in the car while he went into a little hardware place down the way, and Odis took the chance to sneak off, scanning the shopfronts for something for Deafy. The man was impossible to buy for— a new hat? Not if he’d sewn his name into the lining of his current one. Carrots? He had enough of those already, an almost bottomless supply.

Odis passed by a weapons store, barely glancing at it, when something small in the window made him double back. He ran in as quick as he could and was back out to the car in another minute, the little gift wrapped up tight in its bag.

Deafy appeared not a moment later, throwing pieces of lumber in the backseat. “You all right? Look a little frazzled.”

“Fine,” Odis said, and it was true, for once.

Back at the house, the two of them squirreled the gifts up to Odis’ room like thieves, even though the kids were still at school and there was no chance of them being spotted. It was more about the feeling of it all— playing Santa, wrapping gifts atop the bed while Deafy sat against the wall nearby, carving away at a piece of wood.

He held it up after a while, and Odis was startled to see the timber had taken shape into the outline of a woman. She had short hair and a little apron around the front of her wooden dress.

“Sarah for Sarah?” Odis asked, watching as Deafy turned the little carving this way and that in the light.

“More a lady for my first lady,” Deafy said with a wink.

Odis huffed a laugh, turning back to his gifts. They spent a comfortable afternoon like that— Odis folding each edge of paper with care, tying perfect knots for bows while Deafy revealed each of his little carvings to Odis.

When it came time to wrap all the figures, though, Deafy was hopeless. So Odis guided his hands, showed him how to wrap each present with the right amount of paper, how to measure the length of string you’d need. It ended up with Odis wrapping almost all of them and Deafy looking on, but it wasn’t a bad way to spend a day.

They snuck the presents under the tree just in time for the children to arrive home. Over the heads of the kids all clamoring about their day, Odis met Deafy’s eyes, and Deafy winked, just once.

Odis couldn’t help but feel a kind of buzz when he winked back.

* * *

The evening brought with it the quiet the house always settled into— hushed footsteps, soft voices. But Odis swore he could hear something like music coming from downstairs, even holed up in his room, reading some pulpy novel he’d picked through a few dozen times.

He put the book down and crept his way to the first floor, dressed down in his shirtsleeves and socks. The sound grew louder, resolving itself into piano notes.

Odis hadn’t even noticed the little piano in the corner of the sitting room— it was so covered with dust and knickknacks that it was easy to miss. But there now was Dinah, the dust gone and her hands moving quick over the piano in a rousing Christmas tune.

The rest of the family had had the same idea as Odis, migrating to the room and seated there now in little bunches. Only Deafy was standing, leaning up against the wall by the couch.

“Odis!” Lillian called from her seat on the sofa. “Come here, come here!”

Odis went over to sit with her and Lorraine, and the two of them instantly crowded him, sitting in close. It made him flinch, at first, but the twins didn’t notice, fixated as they were on the music. Mildred, cozied up at the opposite end of the couch, gave Odis a little wave that he returned.

“ _Oh, the weather outside is frightful_ ,” Dinah sang, her voice a little clearer than that soft sound Odis had heard the other morning.

“ _But the fire is so delightful_ ,” Deafy joined in from his perch.

“ _And since we’ve no place to go_ ,” Sarah sang, holding Dickie in her lap on one of the armchairs.

They all joined in for the chorus: “ _Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!”_

Dinah played a few rounds, moving into a couple of hymns that Odis recognized, another few that were entirely new. Through it all, the kids sang every word they knew, loudly and without restraint. Even Sarah seemed looser, more at ease, and when Deafy pulled her up to dance to Dinah’s full rendition of _The Christmas Song_ , she went along.

They spun around the room in slow circles, and soon the music transformed into something jazzy, the tempo flying a bit quicker under Dinah’s hands. Sarah laughed as the dance turned into a jive, and Deafy’s answering tenor tugged at something in Odis’ chest.

Sarah collapsed back into her armchair after a few songs, breathing heavily. “That’s enough dancing for me, cowboy. I’m through.”

Deafy gasped, entirely over-the-top. “Then who am I supposed to dance with now?”

Lorraine jumped up, grabbing his hands, and they were off, Deafy spinning her around the room. They moved the coffee table out of the way, and the extra room meant the other kids hopped in for a dance, too.

It was like a spell had been thrown over them all— some kind of Christmas magic, maybe, that drew everyone in, even Mildred. They all became a blur of color and laughter, Dinah playing along at the heart of it all.

Odis watched everything from the comfort of the couch. He was happy enough to be a spectator and indulge in the music for a while, tapping his foot to the beat.

But when all the children had fallen back onto the couch, out of breath and giggling, Deafy held out a hand to Odis.

Odis started to shake his head until he looked at Deafy’s inviting smile, that damned charm, and he knew he’d say yes before Deafy even asked.

“Need someone to dance with, Palomino,” Deafy said, that nickname spilling off his lips like honey. “And all my other partners seem to have left.”

Odis took his hand. “We can’t have that, can we?”

Deafy grinned, and up they went. Odis had two left feet, always had, but Deafy made it look simple, jiving around him and showing him which way to step, what moves to use. Dinah’s up-tempo beat was easy to sink into and Odis was lost in it, the music, the dance, the sparkle in Deafy’s eyes.

It wasn’t until the song shifted to something softer, somber, that Odis realized Deafy had moved in close. He placed one hand on Odis’ hip, the other in Odis’ hand, and the whole evening shifted like it was a spinning top collapsing to the ground.

But Odis put his free hand on Deafy’s shoulder. He let Deafy sidle in, their chests only an inch or so away. And they continued to spin around the room, just slower this time, Dinah’s voice carrying them through: “ _I’m dreaming of a white Christmas… just like the ones I used to know…”_

Their similar height made it easy for Deafy to lean in further, his head next to Odis’, his lips close to his ear. He sang along with Dinah, and Odis felt every note, every warm breath, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from slipping closed, focused only on the feeling, the proximity.

Even when the song ended, they kept moving in small, smaller circles, Odis tightening his grip on Deafy’s hand. Each worry in Odis had collapsed into a fragmented pile, leaving only sensation behind, and sheer instinct.

And Deafy was so close. Too close that Odis opened his eyes, and over Deafy’s shoulder, he spotted Sarah looking away, her knuckles white on her lap.

Odis pulled back from Deafy in an instant, dropping his hand. He tapped his fingers, quick, quicker, and tried to find something to look at, anything that wasn’t Deafy with his confused eyes, Sarah with her vindictive ones.

“I’m going to—” Odis stopped, his voice shaking. “It’s getting late. I should sleep.”

The twins let out an audible “aww” behind him, and Mildred chimed in with a complaint as Dinah’s music slowed to a stop. But Deafy just nodded as Odis brushed by him, unable to contain the trembling of his arms, his hands, his heart.

* * *

Odis didn’t sleep. It wasn’t much of a surprise to him that he couldn’t, but the voices he heard drifting up the stairs later were a shock of sorts— Sarah’s sharp, shrill yell, Deafy’s tense, low shout. It was like the first night all over again, only this time Odis knew for certain they were fighting, their argument overheard in broken pieces: “You’re—” “And he’s—” “What sort of—” “Goddamn it, I—”

Covering his ears didn’t do much. He just waited, listening as a quick tread sounded up the stairs, followed by a door shutting down the hall, just soft enough to avoid being a slam. Shortly after, the distant creak of the back door opening.

Odis didn’t realize he was downstairs until he was, still in his shirtsleeves from earlier, his gloves removed. The back door was left just an inch open, and cold air snuck in through the cracks.

Deafy was right where Odis expected him to be. His back was turned to the door, and he left no indication he’d heard Odis when he stepped outside.

“You mind closing that behind you?” Deafy asked. Careful neutrality lined his voice, made Odis wonder if he’d even heard a fight at all.

He shut the door, sitting next to Deafy on the steps, their thighs brushing. Odis found he didn’t mind it much anymore, and he had to resist the impulse to lean closer.

“I didn’t hear all of it,” Odis admitted after a moment’s silence. “But I heard enough.”

Deafy nodded. “She’s right.”

“About?”

“Everything.” Deafy sighed. “She usually is.”

“And you do have a tendency to think you’re right when you’re not,” Odis said, a wry smile finding its way onto his face.

Deafy chuckled. “I suppose. You’re like her in that way.”

Odis looked over. “Yeah? Calling you out on your bullshit?”

“Language.” There was a smile in Deafy’s voice, though, in the way his eyes turned up at the corners.

Odis had to drag his eyes away, afraid of what would happen if he kept looking. “Someone has to keep you in check.”

“I think the first lady’s given that job up for good,” Deafy said, the smile vanishing from his tone.

Odis waited. Deafy would talk, as he always did, and Odis would listen, as he always did.

“You asked me a few days ago,” Deafy started, “about my wife. Being in love and all that. And I never gave you the real answer, which was no.”

Odis’ hand was restless on the porch step, the chill making his bare fingertips numb as they tapped on the wood.

“I don’t know if I’m familiar with the feeling.” Deafy tilted his head back, looking up at the cloudless sky. “I liked Sarah because she loved me, I think. But with that gone, I…”

“You don’t know who you are anymore,” Odis murmured, finding the conclusion Deafy couldn’t.

Deafy nodded, letting out a long breath. “Something like that.”

Odis collected the words he could gather, ones he wasn’t sure would work until he tried. “You need advice?”

“I’ll take anything at this juncture,” Deafy sighed, glancing over.

“There’s a choice you could make here,” Odis said, remembering Sarah’s words. “Stay or leave. And you have to make it.”

“Those are my only options?”

“When it comes down to it.” Odis looked to Deafy, their legs bumping once more. “But if you leave her, you better come back for your children.”

Deafy frowned. “So… you’re telling me to leave and take the kids?”

“No, I’m—” Odis sighed, a frustrated noise. “I’m saying you can compromise. That you have to. If you and Sarah don’t work anymore, fine. But your kids need a father, Richard, and you’re the only one they have.”

“Wish I could give them someone better,” Deafy muttered.

Odis stared at him. “Then get better.”

Deafy scoffed. “That simple, huh?”

“Well,” Odis started, “no. But start trying. It’s the least you can do.”

“Easy enough for you to say when you like them more than I ever did,” Deafy snapped, and the air stilled between them, frozen sharp as icicles.

Odis took a deep breath, willing the rage down, down. “I’m not here to adopt your kids for you, Wickware. But maybe you could learn a thing or two for once in your goddamn life.”

“And now you’re angry with me, too,” Deafy said, that awful smirk twisting his lips. “That’s the one thing I know I’m good at.”

“Listen to yourself!” Odis exclaimed, standing up. He had to pace along the little porch, his footsteps quick on the boards as his hands jumped at his sides.

Deafy just watched him. “You going to slam some doors? Tell me I’m a worthless case?”

“No, you prick,” Odis ground out. “I’m telling you to do something different. Stop running away from your life and pretending your responsibilities will just vanish into thin fucking air.”

“Can’t hear you with all that profanity.”

“How are you this dense?” Odis slammed one hand on the railing, the pain sharp and clear through the noise.

Deafy stood up slow, as calm as ever. “Can I tell you something?”

“You’ve been telling me things all damn evening, so sure.” Odis stared at him, his fists clenched.

Deafy met his gaze evenly, but there was something hidden in it, something so strangely vulnerable in his voice. “I’m downright scared of my kids.”

“Who isn’t?”

Deafy blinked. “What, you scared of them, too?”

“Of course I am.” Odis sighed, looking out at the snow. “I’m scared of near everything. I don’t know half of what I’m doing or whether it’ll work, so I just muddle my way through.”

“And that’s it?”

“There’s no guide, Richard,” Odis said, turning back. “Sorry to say. You just keep fucking up until you don’t.”

Deafy snorted, a small sound. “Easy as that?”

“Easy as that.”

Deafy reached out, hesitating for just a moment, and Odis watched as Deafy took his hand, as though from far away. His skin was warm, even out in this cold, and as his thumb brushed Odis’ knuckles, Odis stopped thinking at all.

“You scared of me?” Deafy asked, looking down at their hands.

Odis barely shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Me, too,” Deafy admitted. “Of you, I mean.”

Then he looked up, and out here, in the cold and the dark, Odis saw better than he ever could before. Saw Deafy moving in a little closer, felt himself moving in along with him, a kind of dance with no music.

But Odis was nothing but honest when he said he was scared— and he’d always been a hypocrite when it came down to it.

He pulled his hand out of Deafy’s and broke their tenuous eye contact.

“Christmas Eve tomorrow,” Odis stammered, and his excuse sounded cheap to his own ears. “I’ll, um…”

“Yeah,” Deafy said, rubbing the back of his neck with the same hand that had held Odis’, the same hand Odis stared at now, wondering. “It’s getting cold out here.”

Deafy left first, the back door swinging shut behind him, and Odis watched him go, wishing he’d turn around, just once. But he didn’t, of course, and Odis rubbed his hands, fighting the chill that had already crept deep into his skin.

* * *

Christmas Eve brought with it a hive of activity Odis hadn’t anticipated from the house. The kitchen was packed, full to the brim with the smells of boiling vegetables, the sweet air of cookies, the underlying hint of a ham stuck in the oven for hours. Sarah whirled at the center of it all, the eye of a storm, and Odis did his best to stay out of her way, keeping the kids occupied with running around outside, playing games in the sitting room. Deafy was off somewhere in town, grabbing extra supplies they’d missed, and Odis couldn’t say he minded the absence.

But it was only so long before Odis stumbled across Sarah slamming her hands on the kitchen counter, muttering under her breath.

“Sarah?” Odis dared to call, a careful distance away. “You need a break?”

“What I need,” Sarah grumbled, already pushing past him to the front door, “is a goddamn cigarette.”

Odis followed her outside on instinct. Sarah didn’t say a word as she leaned up against the porch railing, gripping it until her hands were white as the snow. He stood on the other side of the steps, maintaining that space between them.

“Don’t suppose you have a smoke on you,” Sarah said after a while.

Odis shook his head. “I shouldn’t.”

Sarah looked over at him, raising both eyebrows. “Come on, Detective. I know you can keep a secret.”

Odis sighed, but he pulled the pack from his back pocket, passing Sarah a cigarette. He lit hers with a match before he lit one for himself, indulging the habit. It was something he usually tried when he was most stressed, but Sarah looked like she could use a friend. Besides, Odis had been under a fair amount of what he’d consider “stress” the past few days.

Sarah took a breath in, smoke trailing out of her mouth. “I haven’t had one of these in a long time.”

Odis snorted, taking a drag of his own. “You might be the worst Mormon I’ve ever met. And I know your husband.”

Sarah full-on laughed at that. “What would you know about being Mormon?”

“Not much,” Odis admitted, unable to help a smile. “But from what I recall, smoking and cursing are up there on some kind of banned list.”

“Like I’ve mentioned,” Sarah said, “I have a messy relation to the faith. Heavenly Father and I can sort it out later.”

Odis nodded, raising his cigarette just slightly in a mock toast. “Amen to that.”

They smoked in silence a while, watching the few birds flit from tree to tree in the thin sunlight. The wind chimes swung in the slight breeze, a gentle and chaotic stirring of sound.

They were interrupted when Deafy’s car pulled down the long drive, but neither of them moved. Sarah took a drag as Deafy climbed out of the car, and Odis’ cigarette burned down slow in his hand.

Deafy took one look at the smoke rising from the porch and just walked past them, arms full of packages.

“I’ll do you the favor of saying nothing,” Deafy tossed out as he let himself into the house.

Odis and Sarah glanced around at him for a moment before they turned back to the front yard. Sarah stubbed out her cigarette on the railing, sighing.

“Thank you,” she said, granting a quiet peace offering.

“Anytime.” Odis took one last drag before he stubbed it out under his foot.

“You mind if I ask you something personal?” Sarah asked, her arms still leaning on the railing.

Odis waved a hand. “We know enough about each other at this rate.”

“Truer words have never been spoken.” Sarah paused. “You said you never married?”

“I had a fiancée,” Odis said, the words still hard to come by. “Levney.”

Sarah looked over. “She passed?”

“Murdered.”

“I won’t say I’m sorry for your loss,” Sarah shrugged, “as I’m sure you’ve heard it enough.”

Odis huffed. “Yeah. Appreciate the sentiment, but it’s been a long time.”

“That why you became a cop?” Sarah asked, the question throwing Odis for a moment.

He bit the inside of his lip, thinking. “It’s why I stayed.”

Sarah nodded like she understood, and maybe, maybe she did. “Terrible things motivate us like nothing else.”

“You say that like you’re a mortal sinner.”

Sarah pointed to the stubbed-out cigarettes at their feet.

“Smoking’s a mortal sin now?” Odis asked, half-smiling.

“Near enough.” Sarah met his smile with one of her own, and for the first time since he’d met her, it felt genuine. “You’re more annoying than Dick is, you know that?”

Odis raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know I could talk that much.”

Sarah laughed, shaking her head. “No, not like that. You’re a good man, Odis. Makes it hard to hate you.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

Sarah looked up at him, taking a step closer, crossing the divide they’d placed. “This isn’t me giving any sort of blessing, but… I’ll call a truce if you will.”

She held out her hand, and without a moment’s hesitation, Odis took it, shaking it once. “Truce is fine by me. Don’t need a blessing.”

Sarah snorted, taking her hand back. “Believe me, you need all the help you can get if you’re falling in with him.”

“I’m not—”

Sarah held up her hand. “You don’t have to tell me. I don’t want to know, and I don’t care anymore. Dick and I burned that bridge more than once over.”

She went to walk back inside but paused in the open doorway, looking over her shoulder. Odis stopped in his tracks, finding that shrewdness in her gaze and shrinking back from it.

“Tell him,” Sarah said, simple. “Because if I know him, he’ll mess it up before you can say a word.”

And with that she strolled inside, leaving Odis off-kilter, the cautionary note already on loop in his ears. He followed after a moment and almost ran into Sarah’s back.

“What’s going—” And then he saw what she was staring at.

There, in the living room, was Deafy, sitting on the floor in the middle of a crowd of children. Lorraine and Lillian were scribbling on the coffee table while Mildred was chatting away from her perch on the couch, a book in her hand. Dinah was gently adjusting Deafy’s grip on Dickie, who was grabbing at Deafy’s nose like it would run away from him.

Odis stood next to Sarah and just watched. Deafy wasn’t perfect at it— Dickie kept slipping out of his hold, and his attention snapped between children like he was trying to win a match of table tennis. But it was the fact that he was there at all that kept Odis looking, kept his heart jumping in one full leap in his chest.

* * *

Dinner was as elaborate as Sarah had set it out to be: a glorious Christmas ham in the middle of the table, surrounded by side dishes of shining vegetables galore. Dessert came in the form of cookies, sugar and chocolate and everything in between. Those were spread across the counter in careful arrangements on the nicest china they had, all set for later.

It was Christmas dinner a day early. Sarah had explained it to Odis as they served up the dishes.

“Keeps Christmas day free to spend with the kids,” she said, carefully slicing the ham. “Family’s important, especially then. And leftovers are just fine.”

“Better, even,” Odis had said, and Sarah had smiled, much more willing to do so now.

At the table, Deafy once more gestured for everyone to hold hands before digging in. Odis didn’t hesitate when he took Deafy’s hand now, but his gloves were on this time— one last barrier between them, the kind he needed.

Deafy still squeezed Odis’ hand when he spoke. “Heavenly Father, we ask you for your blessings on this Christmas meal. We offer our prayers to the Baby Jesus, and we celebrate your word and His birth with dignity.”

“Amen,” Sarah chimed in, cutting Deafy off before he could quote more scripture.

Deafy opened his eyes with a little smile. “Amen.”

They dug in, passing plates around and talking over the gentle clink of silverware, the scrape of knives on ceramic. Mildred made some half-snide remark and Odis laughed, even as Sarah chided her. Dinah spoke up, asking the twins about their new projects, and even Dickie clapped along, smiling when Deafy made a face at him.

For the first time in years, Odis found he didn’t mind Christmas at all.

* * *

After a meal that extended long into the night, followed by more music from Dinah and the twins falling asleep on the couch, Odis was curled under the covers, feeling almost sleepy. His eyes slipped shut, and his mind was quiet, letting him rest for once. A kind of Christmas miracle, a small one he’d take.

Like most things, though, Odis shouldn’t have expected it to last. Footsteps on the hardwood broke him out of his reverie, blinking his eyes open. He waited, listening, and the footsteps kept at it, moving back and forth along the upstairs hallway like they were trying to be quiet.

Odis sighed, turning to stare at the ceiling. Three guesses as to who it was and Odis could already tell from the space between footfalls, the weight of each one.

He opened his door when the footsteps grew close again, and sure enough, there was Deafy, clad in his plain union suit, running his hands through his hair. He stopped when he saw Odis, shrinking back like he was afraid Odis would yell at him.

“You all right?” Odis asked instead.

Deafy looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Couldn’t sleep. The, uh— Sarah kind of kicked me out.”

Odis raised an eyebrow. “Kind of?”

Deafy huffed, almost smiling. “I usually sleep in the spare room when she does this, but, well, I was thinking I’d go downstairs.”

“The sofa?” Odis shook his head. “It’ll be freezing.”

“I’ll be fine,” Deafy said. “Don’t mind me. Go back to sleep.”

It was a decision Odis had already made before he’d even gotten up, but he still hesitated now to say it, to take these little indulgences and let them grow into something he couldn’t name.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Odis sighed. “You can stay here.”

Deafy frowned. “I don’t want to impose.”

“Come on.” Odis looked at him. “You think I’m going to leave you out in the cold?”

Deafy laughed, trying to keep it quiet. “All right, all right. Turning it around on me, I see.”

Odis stepped back from the doorway and let Deafy in, sitting down on the edge of the bed he’d left uncovered. Deafy approached the other side with a careful tread, not quite meeting Odis’ gaze.

Odis tried not to laugh, to poke fun. “Just stay on your side, all right? It’s not a big deal.”

Deafy nodded, climbing in bed at that same, slow pace. “Sure, partner.”

Odis rolled his eyes where Deafy couldn’t see, and he curled back up under the covers, shutting the lamp on the bedside table off with one quick motion.

Behind him, he could hear Deafy shuffling around, trying to get comfortable. There was a little tug on the pile of blankets, and Odis shifted.

“Don’t hog them all to yourself,” Odis muttered.

He could hear Deafy’s soft laugh in the dark. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Listening to Deafy breathe, the sound stretching slow, Odis found sleep quicker than he expected.

* * *

Christmas morning brought Odis the miracle he wanted: he’d actually slept. He breathed in, basking in the absence of the usual, bone-deep exhaustion, curling a little closer into the warmth under his head.

Odis paused. He opened his eyes and found not the flowery pattern of the pillows, but some plain fabric, decorated with little buttons.

He looked up into Deafy’s sleeping face and tried not to move. At some point in the night, they must have both moved, drawn like moths to a mutual flame, and now Deafy’s arms were slung around him almost casually, Odis’ head resting on Deafy’s chest.

Deafy had said he was a heavy sleeper, and Odis hoped it was true. His hands itched, lost somewhere in the blankets, and all he wanted to do was sneak away, wind his way out of Deafy’s arms and pretend this hadn’t happened.

But Odis was weak. And the sun was sneaking through the curtains and playing with the angles of Deafy’s face, turning them gentle, and Odis hadn’t been held like this in such a long time.

There were too many reasons, enough that Odis could count them all, why this was a terrible, terrible idea, but for a moment, he let temptation draw his eyes shut again, Deafy so warm against him.

It wasn’t until the pattering of feet on the floorboards, the chorus of rapid footsteps down the stairs, that Odis truly woke up, remembering. It was Christmas. It was Christmas morning and the kids would be waiting for both of them.

Odis looked up, and this time Deafy looked back, sleep keeping his eyes half-shut.

“Morning, Palomino,” he murmured.

Everything in Odis’ mind flew out the window with just two words.

Deafy shifted, his hands grazing Odis’ sides. He looked over to the door, frowning, and Odis couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

“Sounds like Christmas is happening without us,” Deafy said, his voice still in that sleep-rough state. “You want to head down first? I’ll follow in a moment.”

Odis barely managed to nod.

Deafy smiled, giving him a little nudge. “Go on.”

Odis’ mind finally came back from wherever it had run off to, and he practically leaped out of bed, straightening his pajamas with quick motions. He didn’t look back at Deafy as he left the room, but Deafy’s eyes were like a physical thing on Odis’ back, following him all the way out.

Downstairs, Odis found the kids excitedly pulling presents from under the tree, Sarah sitting on the sofa and watching them with a small smile. They all looked up when he entered and cheered, passing gifts his way.

Odis joined Sarah on the couch. “Merry Christmas.”

Sarah looked at him like she knew, and she probably did. “Merry Christmas yourself.”

Deafy appeared a few minutes later, a robe tugged on over his union suit, and the present opening began in earnest. Mildred gasped when she saw her book from Odis, flicking through it, and the twins each grinned at their gifts. Dinah placed her sheet music on the piano right away, and Dickie managed to keep his new hat on for all of five minutes before it was thrown to the floor. Odis counted that as a win.

Sarah appreciated her measuring cups — "You’ll have to give me a few baking pointers” — and Odis opened his gift from her to find a new hat, much like his old one. This one was a darker blue, almost navy, and the ribbon around it was black to match.

“For special occasions,” Sarah said, and Odis, on impulse alone, hugged her. She went still, but she eventually wrapped her arms around him in turn, patting his back.

“Don’t be such a sap,” she muttered, but Odis could see her smiling when he pulled away.

The kids all handed him a tin of cookies wrapped up in a little bow. It was paired with a drawing of the family and Odis around the tree, courtesy of Lillian, and even a little Christmas story from Lorraine. Odis scanned the page and saw his name mentioned a few times, and the lump in his throat grew two sizes too big.

“We made them all,” Dinah explained. “Well. Everyone at least helped me.”

“Hey,” Mildred chimed in, “I made the sugar cookies.”

Odis smiled, holding the tin and the papers close. “Thank you. Really. You didn’t have to give me anything.”

Mildred rolled her eyes. “Of course we did, silly.”

“You’re family,” Lillian piped up.

Odis shouldn’t have been surprised when the children all moved in to hug him, but it still took him off-guard, all their little arms around him in a group hug. His chest ached, but he hugged them all back, or at least tried to as best he could.

“Thank you,” Odis mumbled. When they pulled back, he swiped at his eyes, and Mildred, spotting the motion, pretended not to see.

Odis handed over Deafy’s gift last, placing the little present in his hands.

“What’s this?” Deafy asked, turning it over and over.

“You’re supposed to open it,” Odis laughed.

“Fair.” Deafy untied the bow and ripped at the paper, revealing a small pocket knife, the blade hidden in a sheath.

“For all that whittling you do,” Odis explained, fingers tapping. “Figured a nice one might come in handy.”

Deafy looked up with a smile, the kind that reached his eyes. “Feels a bit _Gift of the Magi_ after what I already made for you.”

Odis frowned until Deafy gave him a small package, hidden at the back of the tree. It was wrapped poorly, the paper too crumpled in places and thin in others, but at least it was wrapped at all. Odis tore the paper off to reveal a small wooden horse.

“A palomino,” Deafy said as Odis traced the edges of the horse’s mane, the sweep of its tail. “I’ll carve a better one with this here knife sometime.”

“No, it’s—” Odis stopped himself as his voice caught. “I’ll keep this one.”

Deafy grinned, patting Odis’ shoulder, and if Odis wished he’d hugged him, that was only for Odis to know.

The kids’ excitement was contagious as they took over the sitting room with their gifts, flying toy trains and planes around in their hands, or taking dolls on journeys across the carpet. Even after breakfast, their energy only grew, especially when they all looked out the window and spotted snow beginning to fall from the sky.

It took the combined efforts of Sarah, Odis, and Deafy to get them all bundled up and out in the snow. Once they were ready, they sprinted out the door, running around and flopping down to make snow angels. Deafy threw on his coat and dived in with them, throwing snowballs that got him pelted back. Odis and Dinah took a corner of the yard to start on a snowman, and Sarah brought out a hat and a scarf for Dickie to place on his snowy head.

It was the kind of Christmas Odis had only heard about from other officers at the precinct after the holidays were long over. Watching the twins dump snow on Deafy’s head, Odis figured it lived up to expectations.

Hours of winter nonsense later, they all stormed into the house, exhausted and covered in snow, and scarfed down leftovers. Mildred and Dinah ran back outside for another round of snowball fights after dinner, but Lillian and Lorraine migrated to their gifts, cozied up on the sofa. Dickie had already passed out by then, and Sarah put him to sleep upstairs, returning only to find Lillian and Lorraine asleep on the couch.

Odis kept to himself as the evening wore on, content to read in one of the armchairs. Dinah and Mildred returned in due time, Deafy close behind, and soon enough, all the kids were out for the count, Sarah among them.

Odis felt himself slipping off, too, eyes closed more often than not, when Deafy’s hand on his arm roused him.

“Follow me?” Deafy asked in a whisper, inclining his head.

Odis nodded, standing up. He threw on his coat before he went out to the back porch with Deafy, raising a brow.

“You wanted another snowball fight?” Odis asked. “Because I’d win, you know.”

Deafy laughed. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Odis watched as Deafy took off his hat, fiddling with the brim. “This was a nice Christmas, Richard. Nicest I’ve had in a long time, so… thank you.”

Deafy looked over, his smile softening. “Don’t mention it. You made it a whole lot better.”

“Well—” Odis shrugged, fingers tapping at his sides. “Thanks for letting me in.”

“Anytime.” Deafy paused, hands still restless on his hat. “Odis, can I confess something?”

Odis tried to laugh, but it felt forced. “I’m not your pastor, so don’t go confessing anything serious to me.”

Deafy placed his hat on the railing, hanging it on the edge, and said nothing for a few minutes. Odis looked out at the yard, the footsteps scattered in bunches in the snow, the snowman that stood tall with his winter hat. He waited, feeling his arms start to tremble, and it wasn’t from the cold.

“I’ve put you through hell this week,” Deafy started. “Frankly, worse than that.”

Odis didn’t say anything to that. Just watched Deafy breathe, look down at his feet. The moment felt suspended, somehow— like if Odis didn’t move, it would stay forever that way.

But time pulled them forward, and Deafy looked up.

“I’ve a whole life half-lived,” Deafy said, soft as snow. “And I’m tired of dragging my feet.”

He met Odis’ eyes, and there, Odis saw everything he wanted to deny, everything he wanted to run from.

“You mean a whole lot to me, Odis.” Deafy moved in closer, his steps almost silent on the porch. “More than that. I think I…”

Odis shook his head, the smallest movement he was capable of, and Deafy chuckled, letting his sentence trail off.

“Well, either way,” Deafy murmured. “Let me just show you.”

And Odis didn’t stop him, didn’t breathe a word when Deafy cupped Odis’ face in his hands like a gift and pressed their lips together like an answer.

It was warm, and strange. Odis was still catching up on the fact that this was happening when Deafy moved his lips, just the smallest bit, and Odis’ mind kicked into gear and he placed his hands on Deafy’s chest and he shoved him away.

Deafy blinked, and Odis breathed fast, like he was the one who’d been running, the one who’d moved in first, and he could already feel the pit opening up in his chest, the same horrible ache that’d followed him all his life.

“I can’t do this with you,” Odis blurted out, his fingers tapping against one another in sporadic patterns.

Deafy reached out across the growing distance between them. “Odis, I’m—”

“Don’t—” Odis held up one hand. “Don’t apologize.”

Deafy’s hand fell to his side. Odis closed his eyes, taking in a deep, broken breath, but it didn’t help, nothing could, and Odis should have seen this coming, should have stopped it before it could blossom into this, into Deafy looking at him like that.

“I won’t say anything more about it if you won’t,” Odis finally managed, unable to meet Deafy’s eyes.

He could see Deafy nod, just barely. “All right.”

And Odis, hands restless, heart agitated, went back inside, trying to salvage what was left of Christmas and failing, utterly failing.

* * *

They were back on the road home the next day. Odis said his goodbyes to the kids, promising he’d come back, but Lillian and Lorraine still cried their little eyes out, clinging to his legs like they could keep him there with force alone.

Even Mildred looked a little teary-eyed as she shook his hand, all business. “Stay safe out there, Detective.”

Odis smiled, ruffling her hair. “I will, Millionaire. You stay out of trouble.”

Dickie managed to steal Odis’ new hat off his head when he leaned in to say goodbye, waving it around in his little hand.

“Hey, I need that,” Odis protested, and Dickie burbled in response.

His hat reclaimed, Odis gave Dinah a hug, and she held on tight, sniffling as they let go.

“Keep singing,” Odis said, looking her in the eyes. “Really. Let other people hear you sometime.”

“Maybe I will,” Dinah smiled.

Sarah was the last to see Odis off, glancing behind him at Deafy, who was already waiting in the driver’s seat. “Make sure he gets you home safe. No funny business.”

Odis snorted. “Sure thing. And you call anytime if you need anything.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “What, you’re going to drive all the way here if we have any little old problem?”

“I might.”

“You’re too nice for your own good,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “Keep your wits about you.”

“I’ll try,” Odis said, and then he was off down the steps, climbing into the car, and the house was disappearing in the rearview, the children and Sarah growing smaller, smaller, gone.

The car was quiet those first few hours, as Odis thought they’d be. The city turned to farmland, sweeping stretches of snow and lonely fences as far as the eye could see. Deafy didn’t touch the radio dial once, and Odis spent his time until late afternoon staring out the window instead, pretending he was anywhere but here.

Deafy wasn’t a man known for keeping quiet, though.

“Before we spend this whole trip in silence,” he started, “I just want to say my piece and then I’m through. That amenable to you?”

Odis just shrugged.

Deafy sighed. “I’m sorry, Odis. I didn’t mean to read you all wrong, though I see I put my foot right in my mouth with that one.”

He flexed his hands on the wheel, and Odis couldn’t help but follow the motion, hating himself for it.

“I’ll leave you be,” Deafy said, his voice quieter than a church murmur. “Once we get back to Kansas City. You’ll never hear from me if that’s what it takes.”

Odis nodded, even as an alarm bell rang out deep within him, telling him to stop, to wait, to say no.

“That’s fine,” Odis said instead.

Deafy almost smiled, an echo of that smirk of his. “You know, I wish we could’ve been friends before all this. Real friends, I mean. Would’ve made this a hell of a lot simpler.”

“You were too much of a prick.” Odis blurted out the words before he could stop them, wincing as they left his lips.

But Deafy laughed, hesitant as it was. “You got me there, Palomino. I was a right sore thorn in everyone’s sides. Still am.”

Odis didn’t say anything to that. He was still reeling from the nickname, reminded of the porch, the look on Deafy’s face, the little carved horse hidden away in his suitcase. Odis couldn’t bear to get rid of it, even now, even with Deafy throwing them both into the flames.

“Well.” Deafy cleared his throat. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Those were the last words either of them said for a while.

* * *

They spent another night in a nowhere bed-and-breakfast, different from the last, and Odis resigned himself to bed as soon as they arrived. Hiding there, under the covers, he hoped Deafy would be easier to ignore.

But if anything, it made it worse— all those little noises Odis would never have noticed until he couldn’t see. The shift of fabric, the pace of Deafy’s steps on the floor, the not-so-silent sound of him breathing.

Odis tried his best not to move, not to alert Deafy to his own presence, but it was a battle he knew he was losing. If sound was bad enough, feeling Deafy’s eyes on him was another level entirely, though it was more than familiar to him now.

Deafy didn’t say a word when he switched the lamp off. But Odis felt like he hadn’t stopped telling him everything. Like he was still speaking to him now, with the way he rolled over to sleep, the way his breath evened out, the way his hair looked in the slivers of moonlight coming in from the window because Odis, damn it, Odis had turned to look.

The echo of Deafy’s arms around him was more alive than ever as Odis shivered between the thin sheets. It would be so easy, really, to give up. To walk over and crawl in beside Deafy and give it all up for good.

But Odis was nothing if not stubborn, and he could do this. He’d survived worse.

When he finally fell asleep, though, it was with a last look over. A final glimpse of what he could never take for himself.

* * *

Odis drove at dawn the next morning while Deafy slept in the passenger seat. It was a sick kind of reversal, especially when Odis could tell Deafy wasn’t asleep at all under his hat.

Three hours in, Odis pulled off the highway, unable to stand the silence any longer. Deafy jerked his head up when the car rolled along the gravel shoulder on some nowhere road.

“Where in God’s country are you taking us, Weff?” Deafy asked.

“Shut up?” Odis said, not intending it to come out as a question.

Deafy frowned. “I don’t suppose I will, what with you dragging me out to a corn field and likely to dump my body somewhere they’ll never find me.”

Odis took a deep breath that didn’t help. “Listen and shut up. For five goddamn minutes.”

Deafy straightened up in his seat, raising both hands. “Take it away, partner.”

“Not your partner,” Odis said, on instinct alone, before he sighed. “I’m— let me start over.”

“You just started.”

“I will strangle you and leave you in this field if that’s what you want,” Odis hissed, staring resolutely at the wheel.

Deafy smirked. “You can certainly try.”

“You’re distracting me.” Odis shook his head. “I’m waiting until you’re done.”

“How long’s that going to be?” Deafy asked.

Odis didn’t say anything, looking out the windshield.

Deafy stared at him. It took a full minute of silence before Odis finally spoke up again.

“I turned you down,” Odis said, trying to keep his voice slow and even, “because you don’t know what you want.”

Deafy raised an eyebrow. “Saying what I do and don’t want for me, now?”

“You just took me on a Christmas trip where you told me, multiple times, that you didn’t have any idea how to be a father.” Odis turned to look at Deafy. “You want to tell me you aren’t a little bit confused?”

Deafy glared back, but he didn’t open his mouth again.

“I don’t—” Odis tapped his fingers through, _onetwothreefourfive_. “I don’t want to be the reason you leave your wife. Or leave those kids. You’re their father, Richard, whether you like it or not, and you have to be a father.”

“You told me all this already,” Deafy said, but it was quiet.

“I know.” Odis looked out at the snow-covered fields, the light bouncing off it. “And I know it’s hard, I know it is, and I know those kids feel like a curse to you, but they’re a goddamn blessing.”

He glanced at Deafy, pleading with him to hear, to hear this, to hear this one final thing.

“Start acting like they are,” Odis continued, “and maybe you’ll get to liking yourself a bit more so you stop latching onto me.”

The air in the car grew heavy with silence, and Odis huffed, ready to turn the key in the ignition and get back on the road when Deafy finally spoke, soft and far too tender.

“That’s not why I love you, Odis.”

“Shit,” Odis cursed, slamming one hand on the wheel. “Shit, you can’t say that to me. You can’t.”

Deafy tilted his head, looking genuinely confused. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not true!” Odis burst out. “It’s not true, and it never has been—”

“I’m telling the most God’s honest truth I have,” Deafy cut in. “Don’t you get that?”

Odis’ mouth opened and closed, unable to find any words. “But you can’t—”

“There’s that word again.”

Odis clenched his eyes shut tight. “You’re lying. You have to be.”

“Have I lied to you?” Deafy asked, still in that tender voice, the kind that shouldn’t belong to him. “Ever?”

Odis thought about it. Really thought, and there was nothing good he could say, nothing that would get him out of this car and out of this life quick enough.

Deafy shifted forward in the seat, and Odis swore he could feel the heat of him, close and far away all at once. “Odis, please. You don’t have to love me back, not at all, but just know this.”

Odis opened his eyes, glancing over, and it was the fatal mistake he kept making— looking when he shouldn’t.

“Know me,” Deafy said, his voice a whisper through snow-covered fields. “Sitting here, telling you this of my own heart and soul. No one else is making me say it.”

Odis swallowed, hard, his throat betraying him. “Why me?”

“Why anyone?” Deafy chuckled, the sound a little broken. “I don’t know. I just know you, certain as I know there’s a God above us guiding out every move with a purpose we can’t hope to understand. I’ve certainly stopped trying.”

“I thought that was your whole thing,” Odis said. “Understanding God’s plan.”

Deafy shook his head with a wry smile. “I’ve tried. The Lord knows I’ve tried and failed, time and again. I never accepted that failure until now.”

“Why?” It was the only question Odis could think to keep asking, his mind stuck on that broken record spin.

“Why do you think?” Deafy asked. “It was you. I couldn’t hope to stop what had already been set in motion.”

“You’re throwing all that away for me.” Odis’ voice broke on the last word, and he closed his eyes again, willing himself to leave and at the same time willing himself to stay.

“Not throwing it away,” Deafy murmured. “Just taking things as they come for the first time.”

Odis let one of his hands slip from the wheel and land down on the seat between them, not even noticing he’d moved it until Deafy placed his hand on top of his. The weight of it, the warmth, brought everything rushing back— every small moment and every big one, each look and touch all wrapped up under the tree.

“I’ve started thinking…” Deafy trailed off, moving in close. “Is it so bad to want what your heart has already convicted?”

Odis took a shaky breath, one he didn’t have. “I don’t know how.”

Deafy smiled, and God, his smile was a spring sun in dreary winter. “I don’t know, either.”

“Maybe,” Odis breathed, leaning in, and he let himself fall the rest of the way before he could finish his sentence, finding the ending on Deafy’s lips instead.

This time, they moved with one another, meeting each warm press of their mouths with a tilt of the head, a wandering hand. Deafy kissed the same way a daisy grew, soft and slow, with a sudden blossom of movement that made Odis tremble, entirely weak at the knees. He clambered over the car seat, finding his way to Deafy’s lap, and Deafy’s hands found his hips and oh, that was where they belonged, the warm span of his fingers so right and true.

Odis pressed Deafy back into the seat in turn, telling him with kisses what he couldn’t with words or looks alone. His hands tugged at Deafy’s hair and pulled little noises with it, the kind Odis chased with his lips.

Deafy’s hands snuck around to Odis’ chest and pushed, gently, until they’d separated. Odis stared at Deafy’s flushed face, his downright starry eyes.

“Maybe we should get back home first,” Deafy said, a breathless tinge to his voice that Odis wanted to dive right back into.

Odis’ eyes traced down to Deafy’s lips. “Think you can wait those long hours?”

Deafy nodded. “I’ve waited this long for you. I could wait forever if you asked me.”

“I wouldn’t ask that long,” Odis murmured, leaning in for another kiss. “But promise me something else.”

“Anything.”

“We go back,” Odis said, against Deafy’s lips. “Together.”

Deafy looked up at him, fingertips drawing small circles on Odis’ waist. “Back? To Kansas City, or to Salt Lake?”

“To your family.” Odis looked right into Deafy’s eyes, trying to tell him how serious this was, how much he meant every word. “We go back someday, and you help raise your kids. Promise me.”

Deafy nodded, leaning in once more. “I promise.”

Then one kiss turned to two, to four, and Odis lost all thought for a while.

“Okay, really,” Deafy laughed, soft, as they pulled back again. “Get driving or I will.”

Odis grinned, sliding off of Deafy and over to the driver’s seat. “Challenge accepted, Richard.”

The drive home felt quicker than any other drive Odis had taken before, what with all the looks Deafy tossed his way and the scenery that seemed so much brighter now, full of occasional splashes of color and the treacherous hint of possibility. Kansas City soon loomed large in the distance, and driving those same gray city streets, Odis saw light in every streetlamp, in every car hood and shop sign and pile of slush.

Odis invited Deafy up to the apartment, of course. It was more through a look than anything— a gentle nudge, a silent promise of, “Who, me and you? Let’s find out.”

But as they climbed the outside stairs, Deafy carrying their suitcases, Odis felt an uprooting in his chest, like a bird trying desperately to take flight at the last moment. It was the kind that always made him click the lock a few extra times, knock in five more rounds of five, stay shivering in place until everything felt right, felt certain.

Deafy knew it as he watched Odis knock at his door a tenth time, stopping him with a word.

“Odis,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”

“Is it?” Odis asked, his voice shaking. “Everything’s just— just happening all at once, and I want this but I—"

“We take your pace,” Deafy said. “Whatever it may be. Hand to God.”

Odis slowly nodded, and with a final knock, he opened the door.

It was the same as he’d left it: the tiny tree with its faded angel, the crisp corners on the bed, a thin layer of dust on the little table. It was like looking through a filter, some sort of sepia-toned oddity, and he just stood there while Deafy put the suitcases down on the floor with a little thud.

“Want me to take your coat?” Deafy asked.

Odis shook his head. “No, I’ll get it. Just… make yourself comfortable.”

Deafy nodded, and they both hung their coats next to each other, Odis's hat on the wall with a spot left for Deafy’s. He’d been in the apartment so many times, but Odis couldn’t help but find it strange— Deafy in his shirtsleeves, looking around the place as though seeing it for the first time.

“You want to—” Deafy started.

“I told you,” Odis interrupted. “I want this. You. I… I’ll stand here.”

Odis moved over to the middle of the room, turning his back and closing his eyes. It felt silly, but it wasn’t at all, not really.

“And you,” Odis continued, quieter now, “come over here. Whenever you’re ready.”

Odis could hear the smile in Deafy’s voice as he spoke. “Been ready for a long time. My whole life, maybe.”

“This life feel half-lived now?” Odis asked, his voice as hushed as he could make it.

“Not one bit,” Deafy replied, matching his tone with a gentle cadence all his own.

Odis waited a few moments, his eyes closed. He kept his hands still at his sides, but he still shook, a tremble that passed through his face, down his shoulders.

He could hear Deafy’s boots on the hardwood, and they were softer than they had any right to be.

“I’m going to touch you now,” Deafy murmured, close behind. “Is that all right?”

“Yeah,” Odis said, his voice hoarse. “Please.”

There was a little shuffle of fabric— an arm reaching out. “Okay.”

One of Deafy’s hands slowly landed on Odis’ shoulder, and Odis could feel the feverish warmth of Deafy’s palm through his shirt. His other hand joined the first on Odis’ opposite shoulder, the gentle, heavy weight. It was like a shift in the wind, the way they went from being two people to a delicate, almost one.

Odis nodded again, another invitation, and Deafy followed his lead, moving in closer. He was right there at Odis’ back, only touching him with his hands, and it hit Odis, then, that this was exactly where he wanted to be.

“How long has it been?” Deafy asked, his voice a low sound.

Odis chuckled. “Long time. But shorter than you’d think.”

Deafy hummed, and Odis could feel it through his hands, the way it traveled down his spine. “I would say the same for myself, but I’d be lying.”

Odis took in a breath, held it, as he reached up and placed his right hand over Deafy’s, feeling the rough knuckles, the work-honed skin. “Then come in a little closer.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Deafy did as he asked, his chest against Odis’ back, and the shock that went through Odis was like waking up for the first time. Deafy’s hands on his shoulders moved, steady and sure as oars through a current, down his arms, back up again, the motion telling Odis everything he’d ever needed to hear.

“Mind if I…” Deafy’s voice trailed off as Odis squeezed his hand in answer.

Odis gasped, soft, as Deafy leaned in, his lips on the back of Odis’ neck. It was warm in a different sense, a kind of burn, and Deafy’s lips dragged over Odis’ skin, a matchstick on its striking surface. Odis thought he’d leap out of his body at the contact, but instead, it was like settling, a stone coming to rest at the bottom of a river, a sinking he welcomed.

Deafy left kisses all the way down, sneaking under Odis’ loose collar to reach the top of his spine, and Odis couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He tried with his hands instead, pulling at Deafy’s hands until they moved to Odis’ hips, tightening.

Odis rocked back into his grip, and they both sighed, stuttered breaths, as Odis felt everything, knowing how much Deafy wanted this, too.

“I reckon you better kiss me proper,” Deafy murmured.

“Reckon so,” Odis said, breathless.

Odis turned around, still caught in Deafy’s grip, and opened his eyes. Seeing Deafy like this — his eyes dark, his expression so unbarred — made Odis’ heart jump in his chest, landing somewhere in his throat. Any words he may have still had were gone, long-gone, and he could only lean in the rest of the way, kissing Deafy proper, as he asked.

It was everything from the car and more than that— more than a fevered acceptance, this was a reminder and a confession wrapped in one. Odis kissed Deafy with all he had left, all the things he’d buried now uncovered, and it broke him and built him up in the same tune. Their hands gripped tight to each other, and their legs tangled, and they were just themselves, at last, every barrier that had stopped them before torn down and left behind.

They tilted backward before long, Deafy perched over Odis like some kind of prayer they hadn’t discovered yet, and as Odis dragged Deafy in close, closer still, he found the answer for a question he hadn’t known existed, not at the start.

_I think I love you,_ Odis thought, not said, unable to bring it to life.

Deafy looked back at him with those eyes, the kind that said, Odis knew, _I love you just the same._

And together they fell down, eyes open, hearts skipping to a beat they made themselves.


End file.
